The Courting of Ronon Dex
by white raven
Summary: Ever tried? Ever failed? No matter. Try again. Fail again. Fail better." Jennifer will live by the words of Samuel Beckett in her pursuit of Ronon. AU.Set 2 years after Season 5. Ronon-Jennifer. Rated T for now with a possible M for a later chapter.
1. Chapter 1

Author's Note: This story is obviously AU as it's set two years following Season Five and features a pairing that was blown to hell by canon with Brain Storm. Thank God for fan fiction.

Disclaimer: No profit being made. No copyright infringement intended.

**The Courting of Ronon Dex**

Chapter One

"So, what's it like being ditched for a tree hugger?" Laura handed Jennifer a cold beer and leaned against the balcony where her friend stood, watching the horizon vanish with the setting sun.

The scowl Jennifer leveled on Laura threatened to incinerate her. "You suck as a shoulder to cry on."

"Don't bullshit me, Keller. We've been friends a long time now. If you were honest with me, and yourself, you'd admit the thing suffering most right now is your vanity."

Jennifer didn't reply, just tipped her bottle and took a long swallow. She normally wasn't a beer drinker, and there was something almost cheesy in drowning her sorrows in alcohol. It certainly didn't do a perfectly good bottle of Modelo justice. She hazarded a quick glance at Laura before returning to her morose contemplation of the sea's rippling tide.

"What? No long-winded explanation, complete with scientific gobble-dee-gook for why you and Rodney didn't work out, or how he and Katie have this long history of attuned understanding, blah, blah, blah?"

Jennifer wondered how fast the gossip would fly through the city if the CMO ended up in the brig for cracking a beer bottle over a lieutenant's head.

"Nope. I'm not wasting my expansive breath, thank you very much. Besides, you seem to know all the answers, Sigmund Freud."

Laura rested her elbows on the balcony railing, her beer dangling idly between her fingers. "Freud was a dipshit. I'm not a dipshit. It's simple really. You and McKay together didn't make a damn bit of sense. McKay and Katie together make perfect sense."

Jennifer's white-knuckled grip on the bottle neck threatened to crack the glass. "Jeeze, Laura, don't sugar coat it. Tell me how you really feel." She imagined the bottle neck was Laura's neck and squeezed a little harder.

"That's just it, Jenn. Everyone tells you how they feel. You don't reciprocate. Spilling your guts is far more literal for you than figurative. You've been moping around Atlantis for a week. When you're not moping, you're so perky-cheerful, it's creepy. And obviously fake." Laura briefly rested her hand on Jennifer's shoulder. "Look, if I truly believed McKay broke your heart, I'd march out of here this minute and kick his ass from one end of this city to the other. But my instinct is telling me that's not the case. Now tell me I'm wrong."

Jennifer blew out a sigh. Leave it to Laura to pull back the layers and see the truth. The thought of revealing so many regrets, so many mistakes made her stomach knot, but if she needed a confessor, she couldn't think of a better one than Laura.

"You're not wrong. Rodney and I were done before Katie returned to Atlantis. I think we were just going through the motions. Heck, we hadn't had sex in four…"

"Whoa!" Laura raised a hand in warning. "Too much information, friend. Remember, I've been inside Rodney's head. It's a scary place. I'm really not interested in hearing details about being in his bed."

Affronted, Jennifer frowned. "I wasn't planning to give you a play by play. I was just trying to emphasize…"

"No, seriously, I get it."

Jennifer banged her beer bottle on the balcony ledge. "Do you want to hear this or not?"

Laura shrugged. "Well, yeah. Why do you think I asked?"

Her wide-eyed innocence didn't fool Jennifer. "Then stop interrupting me and listen!"

The other woman raised her hand and bottle in a "mea culpa" gesture.

Another bracing swig of the Modelo and Jennifer stared at a point past Laura's shoulder. "Yeah, my vanity has taken a knock or two. Even when you both realize it's over, it still stings."

Laura nodded. "Fair enough. I don't think there's anyone can say they haven't dealt with something like that before, but what else? What really has you all sad-sack and miserable?"

Jennifer paused then plunged in with both feet. "Have you ever looked back and realized you made a truly bad judgment call? One that might have wasted years? Killed a friendship? Hurt someone who trusted you? Lost something profound?"

All semblance of casual listening evaporated from Laura's stance. She straightened from the balcony, her gaze drilling into Jennifer with the same steady intensity she displayed in a high danger situation. "Yeah," she said. "I've had my moments."

The dull ache residing under her lower ribs swelled to a crushing pressure until Jennifer sucked in a gasping breath thick with tears. The bottle slipped from her fingers, only to be saved from a shattering on the balcony floor by Laura's quick reflexes.

Laura set both bottles down before grabbing Jennifer's hand in a tight clasp. "Jesus, Jenn, what's going on?"

Jennifer blinked hard to chase away the tears that blurred her vision. Laura's reassuring grip made it easier, and she took another deep breath to ease the tightness in her chest and throat. "I screwed up, Laura, and I don't know what to do." She couldn't explain anymore, not when she was on the verge of disintegrating into a puddle at her friend's feet.

Laura's grip on her fingers tightened until her hand tingled. "Sure you do. You go back and fix it; if you can't fix it, you move on."

Jennifer sniffed and wiped her eyes with her free hand. "It's not that simple."

"Yeah it is. We just tend to throw all kinds of shit in the road to make it harder on ourselves. The challenge is keeping the road clear."

"I have a bad habit of tossing things in my path."

Laura snorted. "You don't say?" She released Jennifer's hand, gave her a quick hug and bent to retrieve the beers. "Look, as soon you spill the details, we'll plan a strategy to fix whatever you think you fucked up so bad." She handed Jennifer her beer.

Jennifer touched her bottle to Laura's in a toast. "You're a good friend."

"A veritable saint, Keller."

"I wouldn't go that far."

"I would. I just let you smear snot on my shirt, you twit. And I just changed into these civvies. You owe me a shirt."

The two women laughed and once again leaned on the railing to admire the planet's tranquil sea. Jennifer wondered what Laura might say when she told her this grand strategic plan would have to include finding one Ronon Dex somewhere out there in the Pegasus galaxy.


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Note: This story is obviously AU as it's set two years following Season Five and features a pairing that was blown to hell by canon with Brain Storm. Thank God for fan fiction.

Disclaimer: No profit being made. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**The Courting of Ronon Dex**

Chapter Two – _My will shall shape the future. (Elaine Maxwell)_

Jennifer turned for a last glance at Richard Woolsey before stepping through the gate. "Thank you," she mouthed. He nodded, his features grim.

Though her logic was sound, he hadn't approved of her plan, reacting to a surprisingly intuitive instinct that warned him Jennifer's main reason for venturing to M54-R12 had less to do with Dr. Beckett and more to do with Dr. Beckett's security detail. She'd met his eye and let the half truths flow smooth as syrup off her tongue.

She was restless, needed to feel needed. Fighting off a pneumonic plague on a planet steeped in civil war, Beckett needed as many trained warm bodies to help him as he could get. Atlantis had a staff of fully trained and capable physicians. They wouldn't miss her, especially with the acting CMO on duty. Three advanced degrees and twenty-eight years of experience in field medicine guaranteed the infirmary would be in good hands.

Still, Woolsey had hesitated. His thin lips compressed into a suspicious line. "You understand this breaches several IOA protocols?"

Undaunted, she countered his question. "Those are merely formalities. Nothing about my request compromises security." Laura would have made retching noises had she seen what Jennifer did next. Blinking slowly until tears formed in the corners of her eyes, she affected what she thought was the very convincing beginnings of a crying jag.

Knowing the recent history of Jennifer's split with McKay and faced with the prospect of dealing with an overly emotional woman, Woolsey had blanched in terror and quickly signed off on the authorizations that granted her a five-month tour on M54-R12 under the command of Dr. Carson Beckett.

Now, with her supplies and a Marine escort waiting beside her on the ramp leading to the gate, she swallowed back the sour taste of fear. Laura's cryptic remarks sounded in her mind.

"You sure you thought this through? The last time you saw Ronan Dex, ice wouldn't melt in the man's mouth. It's possible he'll never warm up to you again, and then there you are, stuck with him on some backwater, germ-ridden planet for several months, seeing him and wondering why you thought it worth being sling-shot halfway across the galaxy just so you could apologize for something you think you did wrong." She frowned at the end of the lecture and tagged on for good measure, "Which I disagree with, by the way."

"It's worth the effort. He's worth the effort."

"Ma'am?"

The question yanked Jennifer out of her introspection. The Marine closest to her wore a puzzled expression. Great, she'd said that out loud. "Sorry, Corporal. I'm just talking to myself."

Her admission likely didn't reassure her escort, but he kept his thoughts to himself and only replied with a bland "Yes, Ma'am."

She blushed and turned away to stare at the stargate while the technician began the dialing sequence. Warfare of every description waited on the other side of the gate. Jennifer had faced Wraith feedings, kidnapping, hypothermia, hive ships and a very long night of nursing Rodney through a mild case of food poisoning. She was under no illusions. Her greatest challenge still lay ahead of her, her toughest adversary who had once been a loyal friend and possible lover.

Jennifer swallowed hard and ruthlessly squashed the almost overwhelming urge to puke. After all the work, bribery, threats and near treasonous acts they had gone through to locate Ronon, she couldn't abandon this mission. Even if the need—no, the obsession—to clear the air with the Satedan didn't push her to do this, the thought that Laura would skin her alive if she changed her mind kept her firmly rooted to the ramp.

Chevrons lit and the inner rings turned, aligning the symbols with the dialed point of origin. The event horizon burst from the boundary of the gate before furling back on itself.

"_Morituri te salutant_," she whispered and walked through the gate.

* * *

Hell rained down on her head in a shower of hot embers and glowing rock shrapnel. She screamed and covered her head. Two blasts, close to her left deafened her, and she staggered as the earth galloped beneath her feet from the concussion.

The gate, almost fully recessed into an arch of bedrock stood mostly protected from the chaos. Beyond it; however, battle raged and bullets flew.

The Marines on either side of her sprang into action. One grabbed Jennifer's arm and shielded her with his body as they scuttled to the relative safety of a jagged outcropping of rock. His teammate provided cover fire, laying down a spray of gunfire at fast moving shadows that swooped in low from the rise of hillocks and a sky bleached white by a radiant sun.

Jennifer blinked away dust and squinted into a windblown melee of alien aircraft and a desert swarming with armed combatants, both native and Lantean. She ducked, shielding her face with one hand as the Marine to her right fired off several rounds at a spot on the desert floor from which a steady pulse of red light flashed. With each pulse, a subsequent burst blasted the surrounding rock and sent plumes of sand into the air.

The hot brass from spent casings peppered her shoulders and arms, falling around her feet in a scatter of metal confetti. Still partially deaf from the earlier blast that had sheared away a section of the cliff on which the gate perched, she didn't hear the instructions the Marine providing cover fire shouted at her.

He tugged on her arm, and the three crab-walked along a crumbling ledge, easing toward a larger sanctuary of black rock. The corporal who'd questioned her at the gate paused and signaled to his teammate, pointing out a lithe form racing toward them, firing heavy rounds from a blaster rifle as he vaulted mounds of sheared rock and dodged enemy fire.

"Ronon?" Jennifer gaped at their rescuer charging toward them. Dressed in a haphazard mix of Satedan and Earth armor, the blaster rifle jittering in his muscled arms, he was a formidable sight as he closed the distance.

She couldn't decipher the cryptic hand signals exchanged between him and her escort, but the Marines followed his silent orders. One propelled her forward, slinging her past the rock shelter and onto open ground. She exhaled a hard "umpf" as Ronon, still in full charge, bent and flung her over one shoulder.

The world went instantly topsy-turvy. Jennifer nearly lost her lunch, and her eyes crossed as all the blood in her body did a fast track toward her head. Ronon never broke pace. He barreled down the cliff's leeside slope, a heavy arm slung across her lower back and hips to hold her in place.

Her field of vision had narrowed to a bouncing kaleidoscope of running combat boots, dirt, rocks and the ammunitions belt slung across Ronon's waist. His firm hold guaranteed he wouldn't drop her, but Jennifer clutched the belt in a death grip, trying to steady herself in the teeth-rattling jog.

Flipped upside down, she lost all bearing or sense of direction. Only the sudden cool and darkness, so in contrast to the dusty heat and white desert sunlight, signaled they'd entered some interior room.

Ronon didn't stop to set her down. Six turns and a short decent later, he called a halt and dumped her unceremoniously off his shoulder.

She staggered, dizzy from the quick shift in position, and reached out a hand to steady herself. Her fingers skittered across the warm metal of a vambrace before it fell away from her touch.

Ronon stood before her, grim-faced, covered in a grimy layer of dust, sweat and splattered blood. He'd never looked more beautiful. Her tentative smile faded as quickly as it appeared, and her stomach knotted itself into a piece of macramé when she met his eyes.

So cold, she was certain icicles were forming on her nose, his gaze took her in from head to foot. Not a flicker of emotion passed over his set features. He glanced over her head, and she found herself spun sharply in a 180⁰ turn.

"Beckett, you got company."

With her hearing still partially out, she felt more than heard the vibrations of Ronon's deep voice. Flat, toneless and utterly devoid of any emotion.

She glanced over her shoulder in time to see him signal to her escort. "You're with me." The two nodded and raced after him as he sprinted toward one of the dimly lit corridors.

When she turned back to Carson, he smiled at her, the overhead fluorescents highlighting the haggard lines carved into his face. Behind him, the clinical light spilled across a sea of pallets and make-shift beds, each filled with the injured or the dying. This wasn't a sick ward; it was a battlefield triage unit.

Carson clasped her hand and kissed her knuckles. "Jennifer, lass, I'm glad you're here. Welcome to Hell."

* * *

Additional note: "_Morituri te salutant_" was the salute made by gladiators to Caesar before combat began in the arena. Translated from Latin, it means "Those about to die salute you."

Thank you for reading and reviewing.


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Note: This story is obviously AU as it's set two years following Season Five and features a pairing that was blown to hell by canon with Brain Storm. Thank God for fan fiction.

Disclaimer: No profit being made. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**The Courting of Ronon Dex**

Chapter Three – There's a little black spot on the sun today_. (The Police – King of Pain)_

Nineteen pairs of gloves, three sets of scrubs and thirty-nine hours awake—and counting. Jennifer rubbed her eyes with hands made chapped by the harsh soap she'd used to scrub before surgery. The underground hospital's rock walls blurred in her vision. Sleep deprivation was a hallmark of practicing medicine, and she'd pulled more than her fair share of straight shifts. This was no different and no easier.

Her patients were quiet, either sedated or simply sleeping the sleep of the exhausted and injured. A few faint snores serenaded her as she loosened her hair long enough to twist it tight and bind it in a top knot once more. She'd seen to several injured men and some women—natives of this world—and a few Marines pulled into the firefight trying to defend the gate. Luckily Ronon hadn't been one of the injured.

She frowned. Then again, knowing Ronon, he'd be the last to seek help, preferring instead to be hip deep in combat, even with broken bones or a gunshot wound. He'd appeared briefly in the makeshift infirmary twice, carrying wounded both times. He'd conferred with Carson or one of the field nurses—never with her—and disappeared into the winding corridors as quickly as he'd appeared.

"Coffee?"

Carson's voice, its rolling bur soothing to her ears, deflected her thoughts from the Satedan. Jennifer took the cup he offered with a smile.

"Thanks. If I didn't know mainlining it would kill me, I'd bypass the whole swallowing thing and just go straight to caffeine injection." She inhaled the familiar and comforting scent of roasted coffee beans that, for a moment, overwhelmed the smell of blood and antiseptic hanging in the cool air.

Her first sip of the hot liquid made her flinch. She gasped and nearly tipped the coffee on herself when Carson struck her back with enthusiastic pats.

"I shoulda warned ya, it smells good but tastes foul."

As far as understatements, his description of the coffee's taste beat all comers. Jennifer swallowed back a gag and peered into the cup. "My God, who made this?"

"Lieutenant Harris. He swears by its restorative powers. Says it will put hair on your chest." One side of Carson's mouth turned up into a smirk. "Not exactly a boast to win over the female contingent."

Jennifer shuddered at the aftertaste still lingering on her tongue. The stuff would put hair on a nuclear missile. She passed the cup back to Carson. "Never mind. I'm awake."

"See? Harrison was right."

They both laughed, and then Carson sobered. "Sorry about the greeting you got at the Gate, lass. Hell of a way to say hello to a visitor."

She touched his shoulder. "No apologies necessary. I've been on more, ah, hectic missions, and I was briefed about the civil war."

Carson sighed. "Aye, between that and a flu epidemic, we're kept busy in this infirmary. I came here to do research on the virus and offer inoculations, but it's been mostly patching people up after one skirmish or another."

"I saw the Ksak aircraft. They were doing plenty of damage."

"Early 20th century technology with a sprinkling of scavenged Ancient hardware. No match against us or the Wraith but a definite edge over the Marai. The only things keeping the Marai from losing are an outstanding knowledge of guerilla warfare, and they're bloody tough to kill." He chuckled. "Sort of like a Satedan we both know."

Jennifer's answering smile felt stiff. The memory of those cold eyes flitted through her mind. "How is he?"

Carson shrugged. "Still the Ronon we all know and love. Chatty, charming, always up for a good joke." He winked.

As if their conversation had conjured him, Ronon entered in the infirmary, this time carrying a young woman. Ragged and dirty, she wept quiet tears against his armor as he held her. Blood dripped on the floor, and Jennifer noted her mangled boot and lacerated skin revealed by the torn leather.

"Where do you want her?" His gaze swept them both before settling on Carson.

The doctor motioned to an empty pallet. "Put her there." He stopped Ronon long enough to grasp the woman's shaking fingers. "It's all right, lass," he assured her. "We'll take good care of you."

She sniffed and gave him a weak smile, as beguiled by that seductive bur as every other woman who had ever heard Carson Beckett speak. Ronon set her down gently and twitched a blanket over her for warmth.

Jennifer started forward. "I can take care of her, Carson."

He held up a staying hand. "No need. Get some rest. I have Dr. Gallegos and Dr. Borden coming on duty. You can sleep. I'll do the same after this."

"Are you sure?" It was quiet now, and she was practically weaving on her feet from exhaustion, but she felt guilty at leaving him here.

"Aye. Ronon can show you where you'll stay. You're two doors down from me." He glanced briefly at Ronon, oblivious or uncaring of the Satedan's stiffening posture. "You don't mind do you, Ronon? The fighting has stopped for now. The recovery team is bringing in the stragglers. You can get some rest yourself."

He turned away then and focused his attention on the injured woman.

Jennifer cleared her throat, hating her nervousness but unable to squelch it. From the set of his shoulders to the narrowed eyes and flared nostrils, Ronon radiated a quiet hostility. She suspected if given the choice, he'd rather play Russian roulette with a starving Wraith than escort her to her room.

"It's okay, Ronon. I can get someone else to show me…"

She halted mid sentence, cut off by his abrupt "Let's go." He didn't wait for a reply or see if she followed, only strode to one of the cavernous hallways branching off the infirmary.

She jogged to catch up with him and continued jogging to stay at his side. They navigated a labyrinth of rock tunnels lit by smoking torches and hastily strung camp lights. She was utterly lost in minutes and wondered how anyone managed to find their way from the outside to the infirmary and back.

Ronon maintained his silence, and she followed suit, unwilling yet to try and break the unbreakable wall of animosity he'd erected between them. The echoes of their footsteps bouncing off the rock were the only sounds until Jennifer sucked in a harsh breath.

A bitter wind barreled into the corridor, swirling around them in a waltz of stinging sand. Jennifer turned her face away and hugged herself against the chill. The bleed of moonlight pooling at the corridor's exit revealed a landscape transformed into blue shadows and a sky filled with alien stars. The heat of the desert had given way to frigid temperatures, and her thin scrubs offered little protection from the wind's bite.

Heedless of the cold and whipping sand, Ronon strode to the entrance, pausing once to ask in a toneless voice "You coming?"

She followed him, exiting the sheltering tunnel, and found herself in a courtyard open to the sky and encircled by the looming height of cliff walls. A breathtaking vision greeted her tired eyes. Carved into the cliff faces, a temple structure of colossal size faced her, its towering columns and eyeless windows silvered by the light of twin moons.

For a moment she forgot the cold and scouring sand, the wordless enmity of the man who'd once called her friend and stared in wonder. "Amazing," she breathed.

The edifice reminded her of the ruins at Petra, only this was of a far grander scale—and occupied. Flickers of light appeared in two of the windows before disappearing in the darkness, and she heard the whisper of an infant's cry.

"Did the Marai build this?"

Ronon turned to face her. Backlit by a gilded corona, he stood in silhouette, his features nothing more than a cast of shifting shadows. "Their ancestors did." He didn't expand on his knowledge, and Jennifer took up the jogging pace as he set off across the empty courtyard. He never looked back. She suspected if she stopped, he'd simply leave her there to make her way alone to the building's sanctuary.

They climbed a series of steps leading to a giant doorway flanked by intricately carved rock pillars and were greeted by two Marines. Both nodded in acknowledgment as they entered the space and passed into another warren of lightless hallways. A faint hiss and the corridor revealed itself in the cast of a lit torch Ronon held in his hand.

More stone, this time not tunneled but carved into blocks so tightly fitted, a human hair wouldn't pass between them. Alcoves ran the length of the hall, leading to chambers whose doorways sported blanket or tapestry coverings for privacy. The wind's moan had fallen away, replaced by the multitude of sounds made by humanity congregated in one place. Snores and whispers, a child's restless cries.

Ronon motioned for her to follow him with a thrust of his chin, and she fell in step behind him, careful to walk softly so as not to disturb the occupants in their rooms. The chamber he led her to was small and spartan, sporting a single, straw-stuffed bed, a three-legged table and an unlit candle. A stack of military issue blankets sat at the foot of the bed, and the duffle bag with her personal items had been set in a corner.

Her guide's sheer physicality shrank the room, leaving Jennifer short of breath and tongue-tied. His green eyes looked black in the jaundiced light; fathomless, stygian. She ran her tongue across dry lips and prayed her voice didn't betray her nervousness.

"Would you light the candle please? My lighter is buried somewhere in the bottom of my bag."

He did as she requested. The candle's feeble flame would offer enough light so she wouldn't stumble around in the dark but only that. No reading, no making notes—unless she wanted to go blind by the end of the month. No bathroom, no closet and only a rock floor. It was shelter from the elements and not much else.

As if reading her thoughts, Ronon's eyes narrowed. "We bunk with the locals here and live lean."

Jennifer went rigid. He didn't say it. He didn't have to. His unspoken words almost reverberated in the tiny chamber. She was weak; she was soft, and she didn't belong here. She took a deep breath and swallowed a sharp retort. "It's okay, Ronon. I haven't slept in almost two days. A dirt floor looks as good as a feather bed right now, and I'm good at adjusting."

His expression didn't change, and he said no more. Shadows cast by the torch carouseled around the chamber's walls as he turned to exit.

"Ronon."

He halted but kept his back to her. Jennifer closed her eyes, frustration and sleep deprivation bringing her a hair's breadth away from tears. Laura warned this wouldn't be easy. If she only knew how right she was.

"Ronon, it hasn't been under the best of circumstances, but I'm very glad to see you again. It's been a long time."

A simple statement. A simple truth. He'd been on M54-R12 for more than a year with no indication of a willingness to return to Atlantis. He was missed by many, including her. Especially her. Seeing him again had brought her a lightness of spirit, even when he so obviously didn't reciprocate the sentiment.

A shrug and a grunt was his only reply before he disappeared into the hallway. Jennifer leaned against the chamber's opening and watch until the darkness swallowed the torch and his tall figure.

"Goodnight," she whispered.

Good morning more like it. She could only guess at the time, but estimated it was the small hours—somewhere between 02:00 and 03:00. She made short work of making the bed. There was sand in her hair, sand in her nose and sand in her underwear. She didn't care. Nearly two days of no sleep and it was an effort just to kick off her shoes and crawl under the covers. A pinch of the candle flame plunged her room into stifling night.

Sleep didn't come right away. Instead, she stared into oblivion and let the tears fall. She needed this. Stressed, sleep-deprived, and--if she was no-holds-barred honest with herself--scared shitless of how Ronon would react when she managed to corner him long enough to have more than a thirty second conversation that included polysyllabic sentences. A good cry cleared the brain and cleansed the soul.

She had no doubt that by the time her five-month tour was up, her pride would be in tatters. The memory of Laura's straightforward honesty shored up her flagging courage.

"I'm not saying grovel, you nitwit." She'd rolled her eyes at Jennifer's protests that no man, not even Ronon, was worth acting like a human doormat. "You just put the ball in his court, so to speak. You've never given him that chance, Jenn. Do it now. If it doesn't work, walk away. You can at least say you tried."

"That's cold comfort, Laura."

"Girlfriend, that's what a quart of Cherry Garcia is for, along with a range target that has stud muffin's face painted on it."

Recalling the last, Jennifer chuckled softly to herself. Her laugh died away though her smile remained as another memory floated past her mind's eye. Rodney and Katie, arm in arm as they leaned against the west pier balcony on Atlantis. Both smiling, sometimes laughing, caught in a moment that excluded anyone and everyone else. Jennifer knew then her relationship with him was not only dead but buried. She'd watched them from a nearby window, suffering not from jealousy but from envy and a little fear.

In the quiet dark, she wiped away tears from her gritty cheeks. "Take care, Rodney. I'm glad one of us got it right."

* * *

Thank you for reading and reviewing.


	4. Chapter 4

Author's Note: This story is obviously AU as it's set two years following Season Five and features a pairing that was blown to hell by canon with Brain Storm. Thank God for fan fiction.

Disclaimer: No profit being made. No copyright infringement intended.

**The Courting of Ronon Dex**

Chapter Four – Release what's broken underneath_. (Silversun Pickups –The Royal We)_

The underground chamber used for sparring was a smaller version of the infirmary, a vaulted space of hewn rock lit by bare florescent bulbs. Unlike the infirmary which carried the scent of antiseptics, the sparring room smelled of the typical bare-bones gym—sweat, damp towels and dirty socks.

Jennifer hid in the shadows of a corner niche and gripped her bantos sticks in tight fists. Marines and a few Marai lined the walls, watching as Ronon demonstrated several moves to incapacitate an adversary. His teaching method was as she remembered—efficient, purposeful, sometimes brutal, always productive. His sparring partners often limped after a training session or sported cuts and welts from a bantos blow, but they always returned for another round—faster, tougher and a lot harder to subdue.

She had benefited from the few training sessions she had with him on Atlantis. His patience for her clumsiness had been endless, and his pragmatic correction of her mistakes had spared her the worst embarrassment. He was an exceptional teacher whose lessons had saved her life more than once. She only hoped he might remember their sparring with some small measure of fondness and not turn her away now.

Her stomach gurgled in nervous protest. Standing here, waiting until the room cleared so she could approach him in private, was by any definition, stupid. But she was desperate. The man had a sixth sense for knowing where she'd be and when and easily avoided any attempt she made to corner him. The idea of using a tranquilizer gun and a net seemed less pathetic and more practical as days turned into weeks, and the elusive Satedan kept his distance.

Only Laura knew how to push the right button and get her to do things she might cringe from while in a normal, sane frame of mind. Her scathing reply to Jennifer's frustrated message still left burn marks on her retinas.

_"For God's sake, Keller, you moved heaven and earth to get this transfer. Grow a pair of stones and confront the man on his own turf instead of sitting there with your head up your butt wondering when he's going to stop by your room for a beer and friendly chat."_

So here she stood huddled in a corner, clutching her bantos sticks until they threatened to snap in her fingers. It was worse than any awkward moment she experienced as a teenager fumbling through the social mine field that determined the pecking order by merciless ostracism.

The sparring sessions ended sooner than she liked. Ronon shook hands with the last Marine to leave and turned away to grab a towel and mop his face. Despite her apprehension, she couldn't help admire the broad shoulders and long legs presented to her view. The planet's sweltering daytime temperatures precluded the leathers he favored on Atlantis. Brown trousers woven of a light weight fabric and sleeveless shirt that revealed muscled arms sheened in sweat replaced the heavier clothing.

He stacked bantos sticks against one wall and, without turning, addressed her. "We can do another session but it'll have to be short."

She took a breath and stepped out of the shadows. "That's fine. I'm a little rusty and need to start in slow."

His spine audibly cracked as he straightened. Jennifer winced. If the rigid line of his body was any indication, no welcoming smile awaited her.

He pivoted slowly, revealing first an exquisite profile marred by a downturned mouth. When he finally faced her, she shivered at his glacial features. His narrowed gaze swept her from her ponytail to her shoes, and she flushed under his clinical inspection.

The smile she forced to her mouth almost hurt. "I was hoping you could spar with me for a few minutes. I could use the practice." She held out the bantos sticks in entreaty and waited.

Something dark flickered in that hard stare before he tossed his towel to the side and looked away. "No time. I have stuff to do."

She clenched her jaw and held her ground. "You just said you could do another session. Or was that only until you discovered it was me?"

The gauntlet was thrown, her question loaded with vague accusation. The scowl he leveled on her told her he acknowledged her challenge. He took a bantos stick from the pile against the wall and advanced to the center of the room.

"Fine. You get fifteen minutes."

"Generous of you," she snapped and met him halfway.

"Yeah, it is."

She took her stance, the one he taught her and the one Teyla had refined. Ronon swung first, wielding the bantos with a casual disinterest. Jennifer parried with one of her sticks and swung with the other.

The motion set off a strenuous dance of attack and counter- attack. She never landed a hit on him and never expected to. But he managed to knock her feet out from under her only twice. Teyla's additional lessons had served her well, and the brief flicker of approval in Ronon's gaze recognized her improvement.

Fifteen minutes flew by without him calling a halt. They thrust and parried in silence except for Ronon's short commands of "Again," "Faster," or correction of "Your balance is off," "Strike lower."

She followed his instruction, working hard to concentrate on the movements instead of the formidable attraction that had always drawn her to him like a moth to a white-hot light. She ran from it once. No longer.

"Rodney is seeing Katie Brown again. She returned to Atlantis."

The rapid snap of bantos sticks didn't falter, nor did Ronon's stoic expression change. "So?"

She expected this. Monosyllabic answers in guarded monotones. It was enough for now. She wanted more. Much more. But reality dictated that she hope for no more than the recovery of a friendship. Anything was better than this poisonous antipathy between them.

She blocked the shot he aimed at her left hip. "I thought you might want to know."

"Why?"

"Because I think the reason you treat me like a leper is because I had a relationship with him, one that no longer exists."

"Good for him."

She winced. For a man who said little, he used his words to great effect. That stung. Still, she soldiered on. If she didn't go for it now, she might not get another chance.

"Ronon." She dropped one of her sticks and grabbed his wrist. The pulse beneath her thumb hammered a hard beat. He went still, though the tension in his body almost thrummed. Jennifer sucked in a breath and held on to her fading courage.

"We all have the right to love whom we choose, but I chose Rodney for all the wrong reasons and in doing so I think I hurt you. I did you both a disservice. I've apologized to Rodney. I want to apologize to you too."

She was sure the chamber's cool air dropped another couple of degrees. Ronon's mouth had thinned to a tight line, and she released his arm. Warning bells sounded in her head to shut the hell up, but she was determined to have her say. "You're a force of nature, Ronon Dex. Bigger than life. So sure, so confidant. Honestly, it was scary sometimes. There's a strength in you that demands reciprocation in everyone who occupies the same space. At the time I didn't think I measured up. Rodney was safe. Smart but a complete idiot when it came to dealing with people or situations. I could relate on a lot of levels."

His silence pressed down on her, but he hadn't walked away. It gave her the impetus to continue.

"His strengths were my strengths, his weaknesses similar to mine. We understood each other. No risk, no danger, no driving need to measure up and prove myself over and over again." She pushed a strand of hair out of her eyes and made herself meet that green gaze that seemed to ice over with each word she uttered.

"It wasn't until later I realized those similarities can bring out the worst in someone as well as the best. We stagnated together instead of growing together. He realized it too."

"I never meant to mislead or hurt you in any way. I'm so very sorry if that happened. I was scared and took what I thought was an easier path. I hope you can forgive me, and that we can at least be friends again."

His stance never changed. Only the tell-tale whitening of his knuckles as he gripped his bantos stick gave any indication of what he felt.

_"Say something,"_ she thought. _"Anything."_

Later she would admonish herself to be careful what she wished for.

His upper lip lifted in a faint sneer, and his eyes thawed enough to reveal the glitter of disgust. Jennifer's heart dropped into her shoes.

"I wasn't wrong about you," he said. "You are weak." He put his back to her. "We're done."

The remark knocked her breathless, struck her harder than if he'd doubled his fist and punched her. Shock, pain and an exploding anger coalesced into a red haze that clouded her vision. She lashed out with both bantos stick and harsh words of her own.

"And a Runner always runs." She brought the stick down in a whistling arc that glanced off his bicep. A blur of movement, the stunned surprise in his face, a defensive, uncontrolled reaction. She barely wheeled away in time, presenting her shoulder to the snap of a bantos that slammed her face first against the opposite wall with its force and scorched a line of fiery agony from her right shoulder blade to the top of her left buttock.

"Shit!"

Ronon's raspy bellow nearly deafened her. His strong arm encircled her waist, kept her facing the wall. A draft of cool air skated across her bare skin as he gently raised her T-shirt to survey the damage. Wet warmth oozed over her back.

The pain made her want to puke, and she swallowed hard to keep from retching. "I'm okay," she whispered.

"Shut up, Doc. You're not okay." His deep voice rumbled in her ear. "How 'bout next time you just come in and gut me with one of my own knives? It'll hurt us both a lot less."

Despite her best efforts to hold them back, tears leaked from the corners of her eyes—not from her injury but from the agony lacing his voice.

"Not your fault," she warbled.

"Yeah, it is." He turned her, and after an inspection to make sure her kiss to the wall hadn't broken anything, helped her out of the sparring room.

"I'd carry you but not with that wound where it is."

The tunnel's dimmer light revealed the paleness beneath his bronze skin. Jennifer tried to reassure him. "I cut my back, Ronon. I didn't break my legs. I can walk."

"No," he snarled. "I cut your back."

"It was an accident."

"One that shoulda never happened."

He escorted her into the infirmary where they were met by Dr. Borden. The redhead's equally red eyebrows snapped together in a ferocious frown when she inspected Jennifer's injury. The frown only increased in intensity at Jennifer's stumbling explanation of a friendly sparring session in which she made the mistake of going left when she should have gone right.

The doctor's glower easily matched any of Ronon's fiercest, and she leveled one on him that should have torched his dreads. "You could have broken her back. I better never see this again."

He nodded. "You won't. I got careless."

"You got stupid."

"That too."

She shooed him out of the infirmary, promising he could return when she finished cleaning and bandaging the wound. He left reluctantly and cast Jennifer a long look before disappearing around the privacy curtain.

Whatever opinion Dr. Borden held about the sparring session, she kept it to herself after the warning to Ronon. She made quick work of cleaning and bandaging the wound.

"I don't think I need to give you the standard verbiage about wound care?"

Jennifer smiled. "I can recite it in my sleep. I'll come back in to have the bandages changed."

"Do you want to rest here for a bit? I can send someone to get you a clean shirt and pants."

She refused. "No thanks. I'm here enough as it is. I'll just go back to my room. Can you send Ronon back in before I leave?"

Analise Borden was a no-nonsense Amazon of a woman. A phenomenal doctor with the bedside manner of a military school headmaster. Jennifer liked her immensely. "You sure? That stunt he pulled in the sparring room? I see that again, and I'll have his ass brought up on charges, accident or no accident. We clear?"

Jennifer smiled. "Yes ma'am."

The physician nodded and left. Jennifer still perched on the side of the hospital bed, wearing the hospital gown when Ronon reappeared. He stepped in front of her and crossed his arms.

"You okay?"

"Yes. My bra strap protected me from the worst of it. How are you? I hit your arm pretty good."

He shrugged. "Lucky shot. It might bruise."

She struggled with a mix of pride and guilt. She'd finally landed a shot on him but had done so in anger. "I'm sorry I hit you."

Ronon stared at her, incredulous. "I'm not the one with a bloody back."

"No, but you didn't mean to hit me. I did mean to hit you."

Another shrug. "I deserved it." His gaze touched on her head, shoulders and torso. "You sure you don't want to stay here a few hours?"

"Very sure. Like I said, my bra strap worked like armor."

"You had a lot of blood on the back of your shirt."

"It's not as bad as it looks. The skin split along my shoulder blade." She gave him a smile which he didn't return. "Not much padding there. Other than that, it's just a welt. I'll be good as new in a few days."

A profound silence descended between them, heavy with unspoken words and more half-formed apologies. Ronon finally broke the stalemate by bracing an arm on either side of her hips. For one beguiling moment Jennifer forgot the ache in her back and the ache in her heart as he leaned in close. His breath drifted softly across her face, and his eyes burned hot with a mixture of confusion, anger, sorrow and a terrible regret.

"Why are you here, Doc?"

She didn't hesitate, only reached to cup her palms along the lines of his jaw. Her fingers caressed the curve of his cheekbones, her thumbs the softness of his mouth and beard. His eyelids lowered to half-mast in reaction to her touch.

"Because you are."

* * *

Thank you for reading and reviewing. The next chapter will be from Ronon's POV. I hope you don't mind the switch.


	5. Chapter 5

Author's Note: My apologies for the delay in updating and many thanks not only for your patience but for your encouraging reviews, story favorites, alerts and most of all, the time you take to read this tale.

Additional note: Chapter 5 is written from Ronon's point of view.

Disclaimer: No profit being made. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**The Courting of Ronon Dex**

Chapter Five – Temptation is an irresistible force at work on a movable body_. (Henry Louis Mencken)_

Ronon lost count of the number of bodies he'd hacked to pieces. Decapitated heads, hewn torsos, arms and legs lay scattered around him, clear evidence of a relentless butchery. He raised the sword given to him by a Marai chief and faced his last standing victim.

"Bad day?"

Even Carson's cheerful inquiry didn't halt the swing of the blade. _Thwack_. An arm flew into the air. _Thwack_. Another arm followed. _Thwack._ The left leg sent up a small cloud of grit as it tumbled in the sand. _Thwack_. The mangled body canted sideways and fell at the good doctor's feet with a muffled thud.

Ronon hefted the sword to his shoulder and surveyed his handiwork with a scowl. "Nothing a little killing can't fix." He glanced at Carson. "What do you need, Beckett?"

Carson stepped over the remains of massacred woven straw men and closed the distance between him and his security chief in purposeful strides. Ronon admired the fact that like the original Carson, his clone never backed down from an intimidating situation when something important to him was at stake.

"I need some information about the escort accompanying the medical team into the Strega Hills."

It was an odd request, especially coming from Carson who never before inquired about the military escorts who provided security for the doctors and nurses who traveled into the bush and administered medical care to the more isolated Marai and Ksak villages. This latest foray was no different than the several dozens before it. A faint alarm went off in his head.

"What do you want to know?"

Carson smiled but his eyes reflected a grave concern. "Is this an experienced team? Marines not fresh from training and enjoying their first off-world tour?"

The internal alarm went from faint to screeching. Ronon's eyes narrowed. "I only send out the most experienced field soldiers, like always. Why?"

Though he asked the question, he already knew the answer; knew it in the deepest level of his gut which contracted in preparation for Beckett's reply.

"Because Jennifer is on the team going out tomorrow."

Even knowing what the doctor was going to say, Ronon groaned. Was she trying to kill him? Drive him to insanity with every conceivable small torture?

Since her arrival, he'd been drowning in a murky soup of anger, confusion and longing. Combined with the stress of worrying about her safety—he worried from afar, but that didn't lessen the fear—on this backwater planet, he wouldn't be surprised if he looked in the mirror any day now and saw his hair had turned white.

Her simple declaration that she was here because he was had left him reeling in shock. He'd fled the infirmary without a word, the sweet caress of her capable hands lingering on his face, the memory of her graceful back caving beneath the blow of his bantos stick burning in his mind's eye. He returned his attention to Carson who offered a sympathetic smile.

"By that painful groan, I'd guess you're familiar with her bad luck on missions."

If ever a greater understatement was uttered in the entire Pegasus galaxy, Ronon had yet to hear it. "Yeah, you could say that."

"Then you understand why I'm asking about this particular team."

Oh, he understood all right—and heard the unspoken request in Carson's voice. "You want me to go on this one."

Carson didn't dissemble. He slipped deeper into the lyrical burr Ronon always found interesting and women seemed to love. "Aye. She's one of the best physicians to embrace the practice of medicine, but she attracts danger like blood attracts sharks." Ronon thought that was a fitting analogy. "I'd feel better if you were there as well, just to make sure. . ." He paused, searching for the right words, and settled for a shrug. "She's my friend. And yours too."

A denial of Carson's last assertion hovered on Ronon's lips. Jennifer Keller was not his friend. Not anymore. Not when his feelings for her had strengthened beyond a platonic caring, along with the hope she reciprocated his interest. He'd been wrong.

_"I'm kinda interested in someone else."_

Those words, softly intoned and hesitantly spoken, had hammered in his head and dreams for months, only quieting when he left Atlantis-and the painful observations of her with Rodney—f or the rigors of M54-R12.

Some might say he coddled a bruised ego, but they'd be wrong. He knew his physical prowess and history of violence intimidated—even repulsed—a few women. It came with the territory. He took no insult and made no apologies. Shaped by a martial culture and seven years spent as a Runner, he was who he was and felt no need to justify himself to anyone.

Still, the crushing disappointment of Jennifer's admission had stunned him into near incoherency. He had simply walked away from her, from that lovely face with the compassionate eyes and a mouth that spoke words as sharp as the scalpels she wielded in the infirmary.

She'd cut him deep, deeper than he cared to admit, deeper than she'd ever know—and left behind a wound that even the flattery of Amelia Banks' attention couldn't heal. Two years later, and the wound had finally scabbed over, only to be torn open again when he caught sight of her huddled with her escort at the Stargate, pinned down by enemy fire from attacking Ksak.

The revelation for her reason in choosing Rodney had only quickened the rage running through his blood from a slow simmer to a roiling boil. He'd never stood a chance. Despite the growing fondness between them, the times he'd saved her from the various disasters that seemed to follow her on missions and the ephemeral but beguiling moments when Atlantis had gone into lockdown due to quarantine protocol, she didn't trust him. Didn't trust him enough to believe that he hadn't lied when he told her he'd been wrong about her; that she wasn't weak. Didn't trust him to see or understand that the very things that made her so different from him were those things that made them stronger together.

No, Jennifer Keller was not his friend.

"Ronon?"

He didn't miss a beat as Carson's question interrupted his internal musings. "You get it clear it with Wainwright, and I'll go. Just tell the doc and whichever nurse is going with her to be ready by 04:00."

Carson stretched out a hand in gratitude. Ronon shook it. "Thanks, Ronon. From both of us. I'll sleep better knowing you're there with her."

Ronon grunted and turned away to clear the remnants of his slaughtered straw men from the small clearing where he practiced. At least someone would get some rest. He hadn't slept well in over a month, plagued by thoughts of a small, seemingly fragile woman with no business on this sandblasted rock and a rekindled hope that refused to die.

* * *

Thank you for reading and reviewing. The next chapter will return to Jennifer's point of view.


	6. Chapter 6

Author's Note: Despite my best intentions, this update took much longer than planned. I thank you for your patience and your continued interest in this tale. Also, your reviews, story favorites and alerts make my day. They are much appreciated.

Additional note: Chapter 6 switches back to Jennifer's point of view.

Disclaimer: No profit being made. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**The Courting of Ronon Dex**

Chapter Six – Don't walk behind me; I may not lead. Don't walk in front of me; I may not follow. Just walk beside me and be my friend – _Unknown (often attributed to Albert Camus)_

Jennifer thought she was in decent shape. Off-world missions and regular training sessions with Teyla had kept her physically strong and her stamina high. But the ambient conditions on Atlantis and the hikes through alien woodland didn't prepare for the rigors of M54-R12.

Sand as fluid as water eddied in whirlpools around her feet, sucking her down calf-deep until she thought she slogged through a sea of porridge. Her thighs burned from the exertion, and she breathed hard behind the protective swath of her face scarves. The sweltering heat made her clothing stick to her skin, and she licked lips so cracked, she tasted blood on her tongue. Slowing down or asking for a rest from her teammates were not options, especially with the image of Ronon's damning expression vivid in her mind's eye if she dared such a thing. Knowing she'd validate his long-ago statement that she was weak motivated her to trudge onward, placing one plodding foot in front of the other on the endless march to the Strega Hills.

The Satedan led the line of their small contingent, followed by her, Lt. Samson—Beckett's most experienced field nurse—and four Marines. Dressed in the native garb worn by both Marai and Ksak tribesmen, Ronon was little more than a silhouette of fluttering robes and scarves in the ceaselessly blowing sand.

T o reach the hills, they had to cross, on foot, an expanse of desert the Lanteans ironically, if not affectionately, called the Drink—eleven kilometers of desiccated wasteland dotted with jagged runs of pockmarked sandstone. Even the lightest Lantean vehicle sank in the soft drifts, and only the most experienced Marai could ride and control the camel-like creatures called _Bertisai _that glided swiftly over the surface of the ever shifting dunes.

Despite aching muscles, heat and a dry mouth coated in grit, Jennifer was thankful they hiked instead of rode across the Drink. The temperamental _Bertisai _had a nasty habit of projectile vomiting on those they considered a threat, and more than one Marai rider had been disemboweled by the hooked barb on the back of his mount's feet.

They'd traveled halfway across the Drink without stopping. So intent on keeping her balance in the tumbling sand, Jennifer walked into the backpack of the Marine in front her. She stumbled, clutching the pack and threatening to bring the soldier down with her. He gripped her arm to steady her.

"Okay there, Doctor Keller?" His voice crackled across the linked com, muffled by concealing scarves and nearly drowned to a whisper by the wind's howl.

Jennifer bit back a curse when Ronon's striding figure halted and turned. She couldn't see his features, but his gaze pressed down on her, weighted with judgment and disapproval. Great. She wanted his attention, just not this kind.

She tapped the Marine's arm. "I'm good, Sergeant. Just a misstep," she reassured him.

He released her arm and signaled the line they could move forward again. Another static rattle in her ear forewarned an incoming message, this time on a single channel.

"Doc? You all right back there?" Ronon's question, uttered in detached tones, revealed none of his thoughts.

Jennifer knew better, knew she'd once more fallen short in his estimation. "I'm fine, Ronon," she snapped. "People trip sometime. No big deal."

"Fine."

The silence following his short reply was so frigid, she wondered if her ear might blacken from frostbite. Her long sigh rippled the scarf covering her mouth. She'd overreacted to his question, assigning a disapproval that might not be there. An apology was in order as soon they reached a resting spot, and she had a little privacy to speak with him. It was going to be a long, hard road to reach him, and they might never return to the easy camaraderie they once shared, especially if they were baring their teeth at each other over the simplest remark.

The fleeting moments in the infirmary, when she'd touched his face and he closed his eyes in response, had given her hope he was softening toward her. That hope died a quick death. The days following their confrontation in the sparring room were the same as those before it—she searching him out and he strenuously avoiding her as if she had the plague.

Courtship was a bitch. Nice in theory. Difficult in execution, especially considering whom she was trying to win. And she was so far out of her element in that regard, having neither the experience of a lot of dating nor the innate skills of a born flirt. Academic gatherings, casual lunches with close friends—these she handled with ease. Anything more intimate, and she became clumsy, painfully awkward. Only with Rodney had she not felt that way, and everyone saw how well that turned out.

She recalled the last conversation she'd had with Laura, only hours after Ronon had left the infirmary and her with rising hope that they'd made a breakthrough in their ruined friendship.

"Soooo, how's it goin'? Laura's voice oozed innuendo.

Jennifer grinned. "Better. Ronon hit me in the back. I just returned from the infirmary."

"What?"

She laughed aloud at her friend's outrage. "Not as bad as it sounds." She told her of the events in the sparring room and the infirmary, her recitation interrupted by Laura's sympathetic hisses when she described the injury to her back.

Laura's dry "Damn, what a girl has to go through to get a date with this guy," had Jennifer laughing even harder.

They chatted a little more about day to day life on M54-R12, and Laura updated her on the goings-on at Atlantis before drifting back to the subject of Ronon.

"So what do I do now?" Jennifer ran a hand through her hair in frustration. "I haven't got a clue as to how to flirt without looking stupid. Besides, the rules of dating, flirting, courting, all that stuff vary from culture to culture on Earth. How do I even start with someone who isn't even from the same planet?"

She might not be able to see her, but Jennifer just knew Laura rolled her eyes. "Look, you can take the human out of the galaxy; you can't take the primal out of the human."

"Oh God, you're not going to wax philosophical on me, are you?"

"Just shut up and listen. Generally, we all like to be complimented, admired and made to feel special. Right?"

Jennifer shrugged. "Yeah, I guess."

"Well, do a little role reversal. During the whole dating thing, it's usually the guy who's doling out the compliments, buying flowers, blah, blah, blah. You wait for Ronon to do that, and you'll be on that rock for decades. Flip roles. Do it for him. You're crazy in love with the man. It can't be that hard."

Jennifer's mouth fell open. "You're kidding, right? There's nothing easy about dealing with Ronon Dex, and the thought of his expression if I gave him flowers makes me want to either laugh hysterically or throw up."

Laura's exasperated huff stretched across the Pegasus galaxy. "For someone so smart, you're dumb as a post sometimes. Quit thinking so literally. Flowers are just symbols. Pick something else, anything. Present him with a dead antelope you hunted and killed if you have to." They both laughed at that. "See what I mean? It's not the item; it's the gesture behind it. You know him better than you think. Trust your instincts." A short pause, then "Trust his, Jen. He fell for you before that fucked up stunt you pulled with Rodney. You were doing something right up to that point."

A cold chill traveled up Jennifer's arms, and she rubbed them away. "What if he rejects all these grand gestures?"

The less than sympathetic response didn't surprise her. "Suck it up, Buttercup. Guys take that risk all the time. You need to figure out if you think it's worth the risk to your vanity. And if you're having to ask yourself that after all this planning and getting yourself transported to the armpit of the Pegasus galaxy, then you're a dumbass."

"Why am I friends with you again?"

"Because I give damn good advice—in the most charming and subtle ways."

The two shared a chuckle. Jennifer sighed. "Wish you were here, Laura."

Laura's dry tone softened. "Honestly, Keller, I'm glad I'm not. But hurry up and get your ass back to Atlantis, preferably with Sex on a Stick in tow."

The memory of that conversation made her smile and strengthened her resolve to bring her and Ronon to a point where they weren't avoiding or swiping at each other.

A shout burst across her com, startling her. She looked behind her to see the cause of Corporal Murray's alarm. The breath died in her nostrils.

At least fifteen hundred meters high, the massive wall of a sandstorm raced across the desert toward them. The wind's constant whistle changed to the roar of a train barreling down the tracks. Within the roiling turbulence, Jennifer fancied she saw vaporous faces twisting and warping into macabre smiles and open-mouthed screams.

"To the ridge. Now!"

The line sprang into action at Ronon's command. The Marine behind her nearly pulled Jennifer's arm out of its socket as he dragged her across the drifts that swirled like high tide around their legs. The sandstone ridge to which they stumbled offered relative safety in the hollowed caves and alcoves pitting its face.

Sand showered her head and shoulders as the Marine propelled her toward a niche deep and wide enough to shelter three people. He shoved her into the space and left before she could utter a protest. She lost sight of him instantly but could still hear his voice in her com, responding to Ronon's orders.

They couldn't locate Lt. Samson.

"Oh God," Jennifer murmured, half in prayer, half in plea. She resisted the temptation to run out there and help in the search. Like Samson, she'd soon be lost as well, with the team desperate to find two people instead of one.

The storm's roar bludgeoned her ears. Sand blew past the entrance to the alcove, obscuring everything in a thick curtain of wind-driven powder. Darkness swallowed her, and she switched on the flashlight she carried. The voices in her com had deteriorated to static and finally silence. Jennifer hugged herself, prayed for the others' safety and tried not to dwell on the thought of being buried alive in a stone coffin.

She cried out when sand suddenly exploded into her shelter and a body careened against the wall next to her. It took her only a second to recognize the green eyes that met her startled gaze, and she threw herself into Ronon's arms.

"Ronon! You're okay. You're okay." She ran her hands over his arms and down his torso, her medical training kicking in instinctively, searching for injuries through the layers of protective clothing.

He captured her hands. "I'm fine, Doc." His voice, muffled by scarves, was music in her ears.

She frowned. "Everyone else? Lt. Samson? Did they find him?" Her words were as blunted as his, and they both removed the scarves from their faces.

"Parker found him. Half buried in the sand. Might have missed him except Parker literally tripped over him. Everyone's found shelter. Now we just wait."

He released her hands and surveyed their alcove, its dimensions significantly reduced by his size and presence. The low ceiling, which allowed Jennifer to stand comfortably, forced him to hunch. "Not meant for tall people." Behind the goggles, his eyes glinted with a touch of amusement—the first she'd seen since she'd arrived on the planet.

She smiled and gestured to a spot behind him. "There's a small ledge you can sit on. This may not be high enough for you to fully stand, but you can stretch out your legs when you sit."

He followed her instruction and settled on the outcropping. The position brought him eye-level to her, and his gaze revealed nothing of what he thought or felt.

Jennifer shook her head. Back to that, were they? He, stoic and uncommunicative. She, scrambling for something to say that might not sound completely stupid. She seized on the most pressing topic at the moment, gesturing at the entrance where the sand whipped past in hurricane force winds.

"How long do these things last?"

Ronon shrugged. "Hard to tell. If we're lucky, a few minutes or hours. Not so lucky, a few days. We don't know what's behind the storm wall."

"Days?" She gestured to the chaotic scene outside. "What if someone's injured? No way can I reach them in all that."

Ronon gave a fatalistic shrug. "No help for it, Doc. The storm will stop when it's ready. Until then, we just conserve our water and wait it out." He slid his goggles onto the top of his head and rubbed his eyes. "If it makes you feel any better, no one reported any injuries. Even Samson was okay when we found him."

Arrested by his appearance, Jennifer only half heard his remarks. She chuckled, earning herself a puzzled look.

"What?"

She smiled. "You look like a raccoon in reverse."

The head scarves covering his dreads and those he'd worn over his face had shielded him from most of the sand, but not all. In the flashlight's illumination, the tiny, rust-colored granules silvered his features. Protected by his goggles, only the skin around his eyes remained untouched, leaving a pale band that stretched from temple to temple like a bandit's mask.

"What's a raccoon?"

"Squat, furry animal with black markings around the eyes."

Ronon's lips turned up in a reluctant smile. "I've been called a lot of things. 'Squat' is a first."

She laughed. "It's the ring around your eyes from your goggles." She mimicked him and shoved her goggles to the top of her head. "I'm guessing I have the same?" He nodded. "I thought so." She turned to rummage through the backpack she'd shoved into a corner. "I have some wipes we can use to clean up."

He took the one she offered and wiped his face while she did the same. "Thanks," he said. "The stuff itched."

Jennifer took the cloth he held out to her and paused. Streaks of sand still decorated his jaw and smeared the curve of one cheekbone. She didn't have flowers or dead antelope or even a flirtatious look to offer him. But she had capable hands and a deep need to touch him.

"Here," she said softly. "You missed a few spots." She ignored the stiffening in his shoulders when she drew close to stand between his splayed knees and raised the cloth.

She half expected him to yank the wipe out of her fingers and finish the job himself, but he only sat there, still as the rock surrounding them, his deep breaths caressing her cheeks as she wiped away the sand.

His gaze, so full of secrets, never wavered. Jennifer was glad the light disguised instead of revealed the blush heating her face. His beard scratched her fingers, no longer soft to the touch.

"You have sand in your beard." She glided a thumb across one of his eyebrows. "In your eyebrows too. I can comb it out if you want."

The silence following her offer grew thick enough to drown in. Without Laura's "suck it up, Buttercup" remark echoing in her head, Jennifer might have backed down from the offer, given him the comb and told him he was free to use it himself. Instead, she held her ground against Ronon's steady regard.

"Okay."

A simple, one word response, yet she felt she'd been offered a reprieve from execution, her relief was so great. One step forward. If she was lucky, and the fates kind, there wouldn't be two steps back. She bit her dry lips to keep from grinning like an idiot.

The comb rested at the bottom of the backpack's main pocket, and it took her a moment to find it beneath the stash of other personal hygiene supplies she'd packed. When she returned to Ronon it was to find him half asleep, his head resting against the rock wall behind him, serenaded by the storm's ferocious lullaby outside.

His eyes opened the moment she again stood between his knees, and he straightened from the wall. "Sorry," he said. "Rough night last night."

Jennifer longed to ask what kept him awake. If he suffered insomnia for the same reasons she did.

An inner voice admonished her. _"Stop it, Keller. It isn't all about you, you know."_

She kept her reply noncommittal. "We all have those. No need to apologize." She tipped his chin up, her fingertips skating along the smooth underside of his jaw. He was hot to the touch, everything about him an invitation to stroke and linger and stroke some more.

"I can do it if you don't want to, Doc."

His offer broke through her reverie. Jennifer blinked, recalling the comb clutched in her palm in a death grip. The tantalizing hint of a smile flitted across Ronon's mouth, and his eyes crinkled at the corners.

She cleared her throat and raised the comb. "No, no. I got this. Just tell me if I pull too hard."

She set to work with careful diligence, humiliated by her obvious distraction and desperate to find a way to redeem herself and prove she actually had a brain instead of cotton between her ears.

Loosened by the comb's narrow teeth, sand trickled out of Ronon's beard. Jennifer worked slowly, careful not to tug too hard, though she doubted he'd do much more than grunt if she hurt him.

"I owe you an apology, Ronon." He stared at her from the corner of one eye and remained quiet. "I snapped at you earlier for no reason. I know you were just checking on me. I'm sorry."

She turned his face gently to present his other cheek. The comb glided through his beard, scraping away the sand. Ronon stared at her from the corner of his other eye.

"Why do you do that?"

The comb hovered over his jaw. Jennifer's gaze flew to his. "Do what?" Her heart hammered against her ribs in dread of his answer.

"Carry your mistakes with you." He gestured to her pack. "You always have one of those on your back. It's just invisible. And full of fear. You scare yourself."

Anger rode hard on the heels of shock at his observations. Jennifer straightened with a snap of her spine and dropped the comb. "Are you psychoanalyzing me?" She didn't think anything could be stranger than the turn of this conversation.

He grabbed her wrist to keep her from backing away and leaned forward, overwhelming her personal space with his presence. His eyes narrowed to slits and sparked with annoyance. "Don't hide behind words you know I don't know, Doc. As Sheppard likes to say, this isn't a pissing match."

"I'm not pissing on anyone!" She covered her mouth with her free hand. Had she really just said that?

The scowl darkening Ronon's countenance threatened to smother the light from the flashlight. "You're pissing on me. Knock it off." His voice, pitched low, hinted at a long simmering anger. Jennifer's fingers went numb for a moment as his grip tightened around her wrist. "Quit making me the bad guy. The only one here judging you is you."

She blinked furiously. No way was she going to cry in front of Ronon Dex. "You said I was weak."

"And then I said I was wrong." He practically snarled at her. "But you either forgot that part or didn't believe it." The glare he leveled on her was so filled with contempt, she felt dissected. He dropped her wrist, leaned his head back against the rock wall and closed his eyes, effectively shutting her out without another word.

The rage coursing through her veins made her almost lightheaded. She jabbed a finger into Ronon's shoulder. "Don't you dare! Don't you dare close up tighter than a damn clam and pretend I don't exist!"

As always, his lightning quick responses never failed to surprise her. He captured her wrist a second time, long enough to yank her into the intimate space between his legs. His calves closed around the back of her thighs, pulling forward until she had to brace her arms against his shoulders to keep her balance.

So close, and she drowned in his scent and the heat of his reciprocal anger. Hard muscle flexed under her hands. His breathing was shallow, matching rhythm with her own pants. His seductive mouth, a constant temptation in both her dreams and waking hours, was compressed into a tight line.

"What do you want from me, Jennifer Keller?"

The question, more than his previous statements, gave her pause. What did she really want from him? Forgiveness for what she considered her many failings? Redemption? Those were tall orders, impossible ones for him to offer her, when it was she who couldn't give them to herself.

It was a moment of brutal clarity, an epiphany that shamed her. She'd been colossally unfair to him, even now when she'd come to M54-R12, hat in hand, fooling herself into thinking she wanted a recovered friendship, and if luck was with her, a rekindled interest.

The tears she swore not to cry welled along the bottom of her eyes. One spilled over to slide down her cheek and drip from her jaw. Her hands left his shoulders, slid up his neck to the folds of cloth framing his face. His eyes remained locked on hers, his hands relaxed in his lap, not touching her.

Jennifer traced the pure lines of his features. Sorrow and desire battled for supremacy, the second winning as she stood in his embrace. For now she would settle for passion, the self indulgence of finally know what it was like to kiss Ronon Dex.

His breath danced across her lips as she closed the distance between them. "I want this, Ronon. Just this. For now," she spoke against his mouth.

The kiss, fragile and hesitant at first, played between them. She almost gave up when Ronon's mouth remained tight against her caress. But her persistence paid off, and his lips softened beneath the gentle tug of her teeth and coaxing slide of her tongue.

He tasted better than she ever imagined—of the honeyed tea served in the mess each morning and a flavor uniquely his. She sucked on his lower lip, luxuriating in its curve against her tongue, its smoothness.

She leaned harder into him, forcing his head back until she arched over him, the aggressor in an ephemeral moment hinted at while they were locked under quarantine on Atlantis and come to fruition as they waited out a sandstorm on a hostile planet.

Fire licked her insides, a passion fueled by the desire and love for this man that had simmered inside her for years, even when she'd rejected him in favor of another, safer lover. Even when she lay beside that lover, staring through the bedroom window at the Lantean dawn, wondering why she'd made such a choice.

Jennifer's dominance over Ronon lasted for the space of an exchanged breath. Suddenly it was she who bowed to the will of a mate who not only kissed her but claimed her with that kiss. He entered her, thrust in and out, his tongue sweeping the contours of her mouth until he filled her, consumed her and starved the air from her lungs. They groaned in unison, twisting around each other in a tangle of arms, legs, robes and frantically searching hands.

Ronon answered her desperate chant of "I need. I need…" with bestial growls, his hands gripping her hips to press her against the swell of his erection while he took turns kissing her senseless and burying his face between her breasts. They rocked together in a primal rhythm, Jennifer's hands busy with finding an opening into Ronon's tunic that would give her access to the buttons of his trousers.

They both froze at the sudden static crackle that broke through the com silence.

"Chief, you read? This is Parker."

Jennifer gasped in pleasure-pain and arched halfway off Ronon's lap when he sank his teeth into her shoulder. His hands dug into her waist, keeping her anchored to him.

"Chief? "

The strain in Ronon's voice was reflected in the austere lines of his face. "Copy that, Parker." His green eyes burned hot in the alcove's flashlight luminescence, a chaotic mix of lust, wonder and confusion.

Torn between the urge to scream in frustration or laugh at Parker's abysmal timing, Jennifer chose to remain silent and listen as the two men exchanged information.

"Don't know if you can see from your angle, Chief, but the wind's dying down. I think the storm's almost over."

His lips swollen and glistening from Jennifer's enthusiastic kisses, Ronon snorted in disgust. "Speak for yourself, Parker," he muttered. "I'd say it's just begun."

* * *

Thank you for reading. I hope to update with Chapter 7 in less time than it took to update with Chapter 6.


	7. Chapter 7

Author's Note: They say the road to hell is paved in good intentions. I've probably built freeways to the moon and back with my failed ones. My apologies for the long delay between updates. My real life schedule has hammered me into the dirt these past months, and I've just now had a moment to actually sit and update this languishing tale. I truly appreciate your patience and continued support. As always, your readership and thoughtful reviews make my day. For those who celebrate one or several of the holidays that occur this time of year, I wish you a safe and happy season.

**The Courting of Ronon Dex**

Chapter Seven - _"Now who will paint the midnight star?" – Enya (Paint the Sky with Stars)_

They reached the edge of the Veseras forest in the late afternoon and made camp within the shadow of a sheltering granite overhang.

Ronon checked his timepiece. Almost 1700 hours and M54-R12's primary sun blazed a descent toward the horizon, the smaller secondary sun trailing in its path. They were guaranteed another hour of daylight followed by two more of twilight.

He'd made the call to halt early and get settled in for the night. They were in Marai territory, but Ronon took no chances. Friendly locals not withstanding, this far into the bush presented plenty of dangers, from the native fauna on night hunts to Ksak raiders. Plus, they were all dog-tired. Slogging across an ocean of sand, only to leave it behind for a steep climb into the hills with the thin air and hard scrabble ground, had reduced even the physically fit among the team to a heavy-eyed automaton. No on protested when Ronon announced an end to the march for the night.

He surveyed their chosen encampment, noting defensive and lookout positions, points of entry and escape. Their Marai guide had already scouted ahead and returned with news of a nearby stream, good for replenishing their water rations and washing off the layer of grit coating every surface of exposed skin.

Behind him the team set up camp, each person assigned tasks to complete in preparation for the evening. Ronon didn't have to turn from his view of the desert below them to know exactly where Dr. Keller was at the moment. He couldn't be more aware of her than if she stood beside him.

Though he'd never know it, Parker's untimely interruption had nearly gotten him killed. After seven years as a Runner, Ronon never made the mistake of letting down his guard, but he'd come close in that shallow, sand-clogged alcove. He was Satedan; he was tough, but he wasn't dead, and only a dead man could remain impervious to the erotic wonder of Jennifer Keller sliding her hands over his body and kissing him senseless.

He'd been a breath away from putting her on her back, shoving aside her clothes and his, and taking her. It would have been quick, rough and nothing like what he'd envisioned in any fantasy he'd had about the first time he made love to her. But it wouldn't have stopped him. She wouldn't have stopped him.

Even with sand in his nose, he'd smelled her arousal, the scent of her desire for him—hot and primal. The moment he tasted her mouth, his control, the one thing he'd clutched with desperate hands since her arrival on this rock, had pitched straight off the nearest cliff. He was still undecided if Parker's call was his nemesis or his saving grace.

"Chief, Dr. Keller and I are headed to the stream for a refill and a quick wash."

Corporal Murray's cool voice interrupted his thoughts. She gazed at him, a stoic patience stamped on her features as she waited for his go-ahead. He nodded and glanced at Jennifer standing in the overhang's shade and massaging her lower back. She'd removed her head gear and goggles, revealing a dirty face and brown hair streaked gray with sand. He'd never beheld a more beautiful woman.

Without turning his gaze from the object of his greatest desire and most cutting disappointment, he issued a quick command. "Be more vigilant than usual. Dr. Keller is…"

The Marine saved him from explaining the challenges of keeping the good doctor out of trouble. "Dr. Keller's reputation precedes her, sir." She offered a knowing smile. "I'll keep a sharp eye out."

They passed him on their way to the stream. Ronon stopped Jennifer with a hand on her arm. "Hippo-oath, or whatever you call it, you better be carrying a sidearm, Doc—loaded, or you don't leave the camp."

She shot him a mock scowl and pulled her jacket aside to reveal she was armed. "Can I go on my date now, Dad?"

One eyebrow rose at her teasing. He stifled the urge to smile in return and released her. She winked at him before jogging to catch up with Corporal Murray.

Forty-five minutes later, and he found himself scanning the tree line for their return. They'd agreed on ninety minutes—enough time to trek to the stream, refill their water supply, rinse some of the sand off and return to camp. They weren't late by any stretch, yet Ronon chafed at Jennifer's absence, imagining every kind of disaster that might befall her.

With the camp in order and watches assigned, he informed the team he'd bring the women back early so the others could have their turn at the stream. None questioned or remarked on his reasoning, and he strode into the Veseras wood, following the path taken earlier.

Veseras was less wood and more thorny underbrush dotted by stunted, sun-baked trees garlanded in spiky leaves the color of ash. He knew he'd reached the stream before he saw it. A small stand of the same trees, greener and more lush than their brethren, bordered the stream banks. The low music of feminine voices drifted to his ears.

Stealthy and silent, he followed the line of trees and caught sight of the Marine first. She'd stripped away part of her BDUs. The blouse lay next to her, and filtered sunlight dappled her tanned arms and shoulders exposed by her undershirt. She sluiced water over her skin and scrubbed her face. Ronon's uninterested gaze passed over her and locked on Dr. Keller.

Her state of undress mirrored Murray's, down to the undershirt, as did her actions. All similarities ended there. Ronon drank in the sight of water cascading over Jennifer's smooth shoulders, and his gaze tracked the glistening paths left by water droplets as they slid down her arms and neck.

"I'd kill for a chance to take a bath right now," she told her companion.

He'd kill for a chance to see her take a bath right now.

The almost imperceptible change in Murray's movements alerted Ronon. The stiffening back and tensing leg muscles let him know she sensed they were being watched. Time to reveal himself before someone shot him. He stepped hard on a small thorn bush. It crackled beneath his boot.

As smooth and practiced as a trained dancer, the Marine turned to face him, grip steady on the Beretta M9 9mm aimed at his head. Ronon had no doubt Corporal Murray would put a bullet between his eyes were he the enemy. Eyes wide and not nearly so quick in her reactions, Jennifer stood and reached for her own firearm.

"Stand down, Corporal," Ronon ordered as he stepped into view.

Murray lowered her weapon and saluted him. Her greeting was as calm and collected as if they met each other in the base mess hall. "Chief, I didn't think we were late."

Jennifer was less sanguine. She exhaled a pent up breath. "Ronon, did you have to sneak up on us like that?"

He shrugged. "I made more noise than a herd of _tesa_ deer coming through the brush. Not what I'd call sneaking." He turned his attention back to Murray. "You're not late. If you two want a bath, make it quick. I'll keep watch."

Used to working and living alongside an overwhelming contingent of males, Corporal Murray didn't suffer any false modesty. She stripped off her boots and the remainder of her BDUs. Ronon watched, puzzled and then impressed, as she managed to wiggle out of her bra without removing her undershirt and tossed it atop the growing pile of clothing. She waded into the water dressed only in a pair of blue underwear and the undershirt.

He glanced at Jennifer who stared at the Marine, bemused. She met Ronon's eyes. "There's a certain freedom in that kind of self confidence."

"Are you planning to bathe?" He kept his tone flat despite the heat beginning to surge through his body in anticipation of seeing her disrobe. He didn't offer to turn around. Catering to her modesty compromised his ability to guard them, something he wouldn't negotiate because of any misplaced shyness.

She hesitated, and he could almost hear her thoughts. Still unsure of herself in so many ways—how she handled things, what she said, even how she looked to others. He could tell her the truth—that no matter what she did or didn't wear—uniform, formal dress, only a smile—he'd lust after her just the same.

Something flickered in her eyes, as if she resolved some internal argument. Chin lifted, she shed her boots, socks and trousers. Like her female companion, she left on only her undershirt and underwear.

Ronon closed his eyes for a fleeting moment, praying his heart wouldn't jump out of his chest. He'd observed the logistics of Murphy shrugging out of her bra without removing her shirt with nothing more than a detached interest. He nearly combusted watching Jennifer do the same thing.

There were plenty of women more generously endowed than Jennifer Keller, but the hints of gentle curves beneath her ribbed undershirt left Ronon practically salivating and adjusting his suddenly uncomfortable trousers. The image of pale, slender legs and a scantily clad backside as she waded into the water was burned on the back of eyelids. He opened his eyes and looked away to scan the stream bank—as much to maintain his sanity as to reconnoiter their surroundings.

Their baths were mercifully short. Ronon kept his gaze on the forest edge while the two women dressed. He led the way back to camp, with Murray taking up rear guard and Jennifer between them. He'd return to the stream later once the others had their turns. Silent prayers to Satedan gods were fervently offered for water cold enough to dampen the desire firing his blood to the boiling point.

That night, after they'd settled in, began the first watches and made plans for the following day's trek, Ronon stowed his personal supplies into a smaller backpack and prepared to set out. The team clustered nearby, talking softly amongst themselves before going to bed. Except for Jennifer, each team member had joined him on previous medical missions. The understood and respected his need for solitude. If he chose to join their group during an evening chat, they welcomed him. If not, they left him to his own devices.

Jennifer, of course, broke the unspoken protocol. She made her way to the small ledge where he prepared his pack. "Are you sure it's safe for you to go out there at night? By yourself?" It was too dark to make out the expression in her eyes, but he heard the concern in her voice.

"Safe enough. I've been in more dangerous places."

"Alone?"

He paused in his packing. "Yeah, alone."

Her word choice, with its many interpretations and subtle undercurrents, troubled him. Had she used it purposefully? Danger or not, he was, in essence, always alone.

The silence between them lengthened until she spoke again. "I'm not sorry about what happened during the sandstorm."

Images flashed in his mind's eye, recollections of the feel of her lithe form under his hands, the caress of her palms on his cheeks as she tilted his head back and kissed him as if she were dying of thirst, and he was a long, cool drink of water.

Fear followed those memories. That emotion was not always unwelcome. He'd used it to his advantage during his Runner years. It gave him an edge, made him deadly and fed a hate that turned him from challenging prey to formidable predator. This fear though—this terror—came not from the survival instinct kicked into maximum overdrive but from a lesson hard learned—that soft words spoken in a hesitant voice cut just as deep as the sharpest sword. He'd bled steadily for months, and the wounds never healed, only scabbed.

He stared down at her, dusted in alien starlight, and raised his shield. "Why be sorry? Nothing important happened."

The moment the words left his lips, he wanted to take them back. Too late.

Jennifer's quick inhalation pierced him. "Jesus, Ronon," she said in a quavering voice. "That hurt."

The honesty of her pain made the avoidance of his seem cowardly. He almost reached out, almost stroked her shoulder in apology. And stopped short.

He shoved an extra clean shirt in the knapsack and tied it shut. "It wasn't supposed to."

"No, I guess it never is." Her cryptic words were thin and strained. She hugged herself and backed away slowly. "You'll be careful out there, won't you?"

"Yeah, always."

"Okay. I'll see you in the morning then. G'night." He nodded, but she'd turned away by then and missed the gesture.

The journey to and from the stream was quiet and uneventful, the water as cold as he'd hoped. But the fire raging inside him earlier had burned out, leaving him empty and tired, frustrated and—if he was honest—confused.

Sheppard, indulging in the occasional hypocrisy, had sometimes accused him of being an adrenaline junkie—catching that euphoric high from taking risk after dangerous risk. . If only John could see him now. He'd laugh first, then hit him upside the head with a bantos stick. Ronon grumbled to himself as he entered the quiet camp and nodded to Parker who'd taken first watch.

He sought out Jennifer's form amongst the shapeless mounds lying still in their sleeping bags. She was easy to spot, at least for him. He could pick her out of a crowd of thousands, something within him always aware of her, always calling to her.

A space, big enough for another sleeping bag, was open between her and Lt. Samson. He unrolled his bag and stretched out on top, staring up at the stars while he waited his turn for second watch.

The sleeping bag next to him rustled. Ronon turned his head and caught Jennifer watching him. She stretched a slender arm to him and laid her hand on his bicep. Her palm was hot, thin fingers soft. She said nothing, just offered a brief smile that told him she was glad he was back, safe and sound. Her eyes closed in sleep.

Ronon stared at the small hand, pale against his darker skin, and remained still, content to hear her breathe and bask in the grace of her touch.


	8. Chapter 8

_Author's Note: Nearly a year later, and I finally have another chapter up. For those still reading, I appreciate your perseverance and your patience. Your reviews make my day. I love the Dex/Keller 'ship. May it live long and prosper._

**The Courting of Ronon Dex**

Chapter Eight – _"Cry havoc and let slip the dogs of war."_ – Marc Antony (William Shakespeare – Julius Caesar, 1601)

Jennifer peeled the fabric of her sweat-drenched undershirt away from her ribs in a vain attempt to circulate a little air across her skin. Not that it helped much. The mountain breeze whipping through the village had all the pleasant coolness of a blow-dryer turned to "hot" and "high." Her bra itched; her lips cracked every time she spoke, and her eyelids felt like they were glued to her dry eyes.

A week in this Marai encampment, administering vaccinations, tending to those ill with the influenza that still raged through the population and sewing up the wounded brought in from skirmishes with enemy Kzak, and Jennifer was ready to sell her soul for the luxuries of a cold shower and a military issue cot.

Grueling days culminated in nights where she didn't just fall asleep, she passed out. A dusty blanket stretched out on hard scrabble ground was almost as good as that longed-for cot after a day spent up to her elbows in blood in field surgery or cleaning up vomit when the sick couldn't keep their medication down.

For now, the village simmered peacefully in the later afternoon heat. No one called for aid, and she took the rare moment of quiet to recline against the hide wall of her small yurt and cool off in the scant shade cast by the structure's shadow. The water in her canteen was tepid and flat but offered a soothing balm on her dry lips. She'd whittled down her one tube of chapstick in three days.

"Note to self," she muttered. "Bring a case of the stuff on the next trip."

Watery heat mirages rippled in the distance, inviting fond recollections of working showers on Atlantis and off-world missions to planets with cool forests and ice-water lakes. She'd never again take the luxury of indoor plumbing and an endless water supply for granted. Water scarcity meant using it only for the basic necessities—cooking, sterilization and drinking. She managed to eke out a quick sponge bath every other day and a good head scrubbing only once since she'd arrived. Like the native Marai, she'd adopted the custom of covering her hair in scarves—not only to stay cool but to prevent lice infestation.

Her hands and forearms were the cleanest things on her at the moment. Water shortage or not, she refused to compromise sterilization protocol. That unyielding stance had paid off. The temporary field hospital set up in the village was bare-bones functional, but Jennifer made do and had not yet lost a patient to either injury or illness.

She sipped her water and watched as one mirage solidified, coalescing into a robed pack of dusty travelers. They trudged toward the village, kicking up gritty clouds that swirled around them in miniature vortexes. Their faces were obscured by concealing scarves, but she recognized their leader; she'd know that long stride anywhere.

Marai children raced to meet them, their rapid speech beyond her ability to translate as they chattered and questioned the group about their trip to a hidden cache of Ancient technology. The adults soon joined them until they were surrounded by the entire village.

She was the last to join the group and listened as the Marai guide recounted the trip to the hidden cache and the Ancient items they found there. Standing next to Jennifer, Corporal Murray offered additional information in a low voice.

"We've called in a recovery team to clear out the cache before any Kzaks come across it."

Jennifer spoke softly as well. "I've never understood why the Marai don't help themselves to these technologies. You can't tell me there wasn't weaponry in there—things to arm themselves against the Kzak."

Murray shrugged. "Superstitious bunch. They won't touch the stuff—think it's cursed or haunted. You were in surgery when the shaman performed everything, including a rain dance, to protect us and the guide who led us there." Her mouth curved into a wry smile. "Something must have worked. Expedition went like clockwork."

Jennifer, a worrier by nature, hid her relief at seeing the team return without incident. Well aware of her reputation for inadvertently getting caught in dangerous situations, she hadn't volunteered to go on this particular mission. Ronon had enough to sweat over without the extra effort of keeping her out of harm's way. Besides, she was of far more use in the village.

Her gaze sought and found Ronon. As if he sensed her regard, he met her eyes, acknowledged her with a quick nod and returned his attention to the Marai chieftain.

She gave him a quick once-over, at least what she could of him surrounded by his team and half the village. She did the same for the others, noting no one seemed the worse for wear after their trek to the cache. No one to bandage or sew up? That would be a first.

With her next statement, Murray proved that Jennifer's "first" had not yet arrived. "You'll want to see the Chief after he's finished with the elder. The cache was buried in a tunnel that looked like it had a cave-in at one point. Broken beams and pipes. Even with the extra light, it was hard to see. Dex caught his leg on the edge of some pipe. I think it just tore his pants leg. Didn't see any blood, and he never mentioned it." Her sideways glance spoke volumes. "But you know how he is; he wouldn't bitch about it, even if it tore his leg half off."

Jennifer nodded, eyes narrowing as she searched for additional signs of injury. "Yeah, I know. I'll corner him when he's done. Thank you, Corporal."

The other woman saluted her and left to join the rest of the team as they dispersed to their respective yurts. Ronon remained in conversation with the chieftain after the others had gone, glancing at her twice with a frown. She held her ground, crossed her arms and waited.

Once the older man left, Ronon strolled to where she stood in the hot sun. Gritty smears of sand mixed with perspiration darkened his face and turned his an even more brilliant shade of green. Few people looked drop-dead gorgeous when they were dirty and sweaty; she certainly didn't, yet somehow Ronon Dex managed it with ease.

Her gaze assessed him, searching for a limp or change in his gait. He moved as he normally would, silent and light on his feet. His long Marai robes hid the torn pants leg.

"Something you need, Doctor Keller?"

He hadn't called her "Doc" since he issued the edict she carry a sidearm to the stream where she'd bathed. As if he knew the formal address irritated her, he'd taken to calling her Doctor Keller. Nothing in his interactions with her even hinted at that time they waited out the sandstorm in a sheltering alcove. If not for the faint bruise on her shoulder from when he'd bitten her, she might have thought she imagined the event.

"Doctor Keller?" His flat tone bordered on snide. "What do you need?"

_"Grow__ a__ pair__ of__ stones..."_ Laura's exasperated command echoed in her mind. It often did when she needed a shot of courage.

"Yes, Specialist Dex." She could play his game. "I need you to drop your pants."

He halted mid-step, his eyes rounding. Jennifer swallowed a triumphant laugh. Gotcha, she thought. She was tempted to leave her statement at that just to see what he'd do but decided to cut him a little slack—something he still refused to do for her so far.

"Corporal Murray mentioned you might have injured yourself in the cache's tunnel. I want to take a look at your leg, see what kind of damage you did."

His response was a low growl and a muttered "It's a scratch. I can take care of it."

She raised her chin and strode past him, doing her best to resist the lure of his presence. "Self-diagnosing patients are the bane of my existence. No arguments, please. I won't hesitate to pull rank. Hospital tent. Now."

She didn't pause to see if he followed. He made no sound, but she sensed him behind her, supremely male, supremely annoyed. She allowed herself a faint smile then and ducked into the hospital tent.

For the moment the tent was empty. Lt. Samson had left to tend a young woman due to give birth any day. Those contagious with the flu were quarantined in another tend to prevent any injured villagers from getting infected.

Their shoes made crackling sounds on the plastic flooring, and filtered sunlight illuminated two rows of medical field cots and the stash of supplies she and the team had carried with them for this journey.

"How you doing on supplies?"

She shrugged. "Okay so far. You can never have enough bandages, but Bloodstoppers can be boiled and reused. If I have a sudden shortage, I can resort to tampons. We're good with Cephalaxin, Hydrocodone Bitartrate and Ibuprofen. Only one person has needed a SAM splint so far. I just have to keep an eye on the antiseptic scrub and the surgical gloves. You'd be amazed how fast we can go through both of those."

The faint curve of his mouth made her stop. Christ, she was babbling like an idiot, but at least Ronon was smiling at her instead of glaring. Jennifer cleared her throat. "Sorry about that."

The smile grew more pronounced. "It's okay. I asked. You love your work, Doc. Nothing wrong with that."

He unwrapped his head scarves, unaware he'd slipped and called her "Doc." But Jennifer caught it and held that small triumph close. She took his scarves, fold them neatly and set them on a table by the cot. The robes came next until Ronon was down to an undershirt and a pair of BDUs with a rip along the inside of his left thigh.

She was a physician used to seeing the human body in every state imaginable and able to stay objective and focused, but she still had to work at keeping her voice even when she instructed him to remove his boots and pants.

Unlike her, he appeared unruffled and followed her commands before stretching out on the cot to await her examination. He tucked an arm behind his head and studied the tent's ceiling. The sudden silence grew as stifling as the air inside the tent.

Jennifer slipped on a pair of medical gloves and tried not to gawk too much at the nicest, longest pair of legs she'd ever seen.

Ronon was a tall man, fit and muscular but without the heavy bulk of some of the other soldiers she'd seen in the gym on Atlantis and at the base camp on M54-R12. Stripped to his undershirt and a snug pair of sand colored military issue briefs that revealed more than they hid, he was an impressive sight. She'd ministered to him on Atlantis years earlier, knocked almost breathless at her first sight of him without layers of clothing. She'd forgotten how beautiful he was.

"Let's take a look at this." She bent across him, gloved hands pressed gently against his inner thigh. The wound was a minor surface laceration, already beginning to scab. "How did it happen?"

"I thought Murray told you."

"She said you caught your leg on a piece of broken pipe."

"That's what happened."

She clenched her teeth in frustration. If stonewalling were an Olympic event, Ronon Dex would win the gold. "No one will ever accuse you of being overly talkative." She pressed the muscle around the laceration, checking for swelling or bruising. "This isn't bad. No need for sutures."

"Told you it was just a scratch." The words came out in a rumble, but Jennifer detected a new note in his voice—a strained resonance.

She glanced at him. He still stared at the ceiling, but his face had sharpened, cheekbones more prominent and dusted a rosy hue, lips thinned to that tight line he always got when he was angry. Her gaze touched on his stiff shoulders, wide chest and flat midriff before coming to rest on the swell of a very prominent erection.

His reaction was normal, and she'd seen the same a thousand times before working as a doctor on a military installation. But this was Ronon, and an ocean of tension, resentment and squelched desire surged between them. She was glad her touch elicited such a response, despaired that he hated it.

"Be that as it may, we're on an alien planet swimming in who knows what kind of bacteria. I'm going to debride this and swab it with Betadine. You've had your tetanus vaccination, so that won't be a concern unless we have a new germ, and there's nothing I can do about that until you start manifesting symptoms. Let's hope that never becomes an issue." She deserved a pat on the back for the coolness of her reply, even while her face burned with what felt like the mother of all blushes.

She left his bedside to retrieve her debriding supplies, glad for the chance to take a deep, steadying breath. When she returned, he was as she'd left him, aroused and silently brooding. Jennifer searched for something to break the tension that hummed in the tent like electrical cable.

"If you won't tell me about your mishap, tell me about the cache. What did you find?" This was a safe topic, work-related and lacking any undercurrents. She knew by Ronon's relieved expression, she'd made a good choice.

"Scanners, parts for jumpers, some weaponry. Stuff we haven't seen before. Once the recovery team gets it, they'll transport it back to Atlantis."

She worked swiftly on the laceration, cleaning away dried blood and applying the Betadine. "The weaponry needs the Ancient gene to activate it, right?"

"Yeah, and we're pretty sure there's a few Kzak and Marai warlords who have the gene."

Ronon had finally halted his staring contest with the tent ceiling and turned his full attention on her. She covered his laceration with a waterproof bandage. "I heard back at base there's a warlord named Vemen. Particularly nasty piece of work. And very clever."

Something flitted in his gaze—admiration, heightened interest—she wasn't sure. It was gone as soon as it appeared. "He's our biggest problem, and he raids into this territory. We placed ordnance around the cache just in case he gets to it before the recovery team does."

This was serious. The extreme value of Ancient technology dictated a high level of risk the military and the IOA were willing to take to retrieve it. The fact they were equally willing to destroy it to keep it out of Kzak hands meant they considered this warlord an extreme threat.

"Sorry you came?"

That snide tone was back in Ronon's voice, and he eyed her with a frosty look.

She glared. Did he just accuse her of cowardice? Jerk. She removed her gloves and tossed them next to the bottle of Betadine. "No." The items on the medical tray rattled as she pushed the tray aside with a little too much force. "I'm not a coward, Ronon."

He jackknifed into a sitting position and swung his legs over the side of the cot. He glared back. "I never said you were."

She slung his BDUs at him. He caught them with one hand. "You didn't have to. You're very good at implication."

Ronon yanked on his pants. Boot laces snapped in his fingers as pulled his boots on and began to lace. If his motions were anything to judge, he was just as angry as she was. "I gotta go."

Jesus, he was doing it again! Fleeing before they could cross that impenetrable barrier he erected and have an honest if messy conversation. She hated herself for saying it, but some evil internal gremlin took control of her tongue. "Runner always runs," she taunted.

He cleared the cot so fast she only had time to squeak before he grabbed her shoulders. Nostrils flared, he lowered his head and tried to incinerate her with a volcanic stare. One hand left her shoulder, slid down her back and jerked her against him.

His chest rose and fell in deep pants, and Jennifer thought she might drown in the sensations flooding her. Hot skin, the scents of dust, sweat and Betadine and the shivering power of an aroused, very pissed off male.

She didn't struggle to get free, rejoicing at his reaction—the fact he hadn't fled but chose to confront her. It was a hell of a risk, but what a payoff. She clutched his arms and pushed her body against his to get closer. "Stop the gymnastics, Ronon. You'll ruin my good work and make that laceration worse. It will hurt."

Her teasing had the opposite effect than she intended. Instead of softening his anger, her remarks only intensified it, stirring it to a fire that sparked in his green eyes and compressed his lips to a white line. Her heart beat so hard in her chest, her ribs ached. The hand still at her shoulder reached higher and wrapped her ponytail in a twist, pulling until her neck and back arched with the motion.

Ronon's mouth hovered just above hers. "It always hurts," he raged in a voice barely above a whisper. "It burns and it bleeds and it twists my guts until I can't think straight."

He kissed her then, an aggressive melding of mouths and tongues. Jennifer didn't fight him, just held him, stroked and caressed with her tongue, her lips. Her hands roamed his back, his sides, the coarse spirals of his dreads. His kiss spoke of a terrible bitterness and pain that had years to percolate and grow. Hers was a silent apology, a request for forgiveness.

Voices outside the tent ended the kiss as abruptly as it began. Ronon jerked away from her, his lips full and red. He raised a hand to his mouth as if to wipe away her taste. Jennifer's eyes narrowed to slits. "Don't you dare," she warned.

He lowered his arm. His eyes still shot sparks. "You shouldn't be here. Get off this planet. Go back to Atlantis and stay the hell away from me." With that proclamation, he spun on his heel and stormed from the tent.

Jennifer took a deep breath and closed her eyes to steady her emotions. Laura had warned her this would be an uphill battle. She was wrong. It would be a death match.

Her lips still tingled from the ferocity of his kiss, and she touched them with her fingertips. No way was she leaving now, despite his commands. And she wasn't going to stay away from him. She ached for him, wished there was some way she could take away the hurt with a snap of her fingers and start again, even if it was just as friends. But they'd come too far. This was an all or nothing endeavor.

She recalled her moment at the Atlantis stargate, right before she crossed into the wormhole for her journey to M54-R12. She'd recited the traditional gladiator's salute to Caesar—from those about to die. She'd gotten way more than she'd bargained for when dealing with Ronon. She hadn't fled, but her philosophy had changed. She loved Ronon Dex with every molecule of her being, and she was about to go to war with him.

"Cry havoc," she murmured and left the tent.


	9. Chapter 9

Author's Note: This story is obviously AU as it's set two years following Season Five and features a pairing that was blown to hell by canon with Brain Storm. Thank God for fan fiction.

Disclaimer: No profit being made. No copyright infringement intended.

A long time between drinks. Real life and deadlines are putting me through the ringer. Thank you to everyone who's not only read but continued to read after waiting so patiently for me to get off my duff and update. I truly appreciate it.

To Everlovin' - your timing is impeccable. I was planning to put off finishing this chapter until next week. Thanks for the encouragement and motivation to get it done now instead of later.

* * *

**The Courting of Ronon Dex**

Chapter Nine – Wear my scars pink and proud. Still can't say her name out loud. (Thornley – _All Fall Down_)

Sand and gravel crunched under a footstep behind him. Ronon didn't look up from cleaning the barrel of his particle magnum. He'd know that gait anywhere. A light heel-to-toe tread with the weight distributed more on the outside of the foot and a short stride. Even if he didn't recognize her gait, he'd know her scent, and if not that, then the delicate cadence of her breathing—nothing more than a whisper on the steady desert breeze, but one that raised gooseflesh on his arms, as if she'd blown a kiss across his skin. He gripped the magnum, clenched his teeth and braced himself for when the lovely Doctor Keller would inevitably plant her delectable backside next to him. The Runner _didn't_ always run.

They'd avoided each other for two days since the moment in the tent when he'd warned her to stay away from him. Fear, sexual frustration and the temptation to give in to her sincere wish for a cease fire between them had left him on a short fuse. The rest of the team stayed out of his way as well. It figured the first person to willingly approach him now was the one who'd put him on edge in the first place. She might not be cautious, but she was tenacious.

Jennifer crouched beside him. "Hey."

His eyes narrowed. He wasn't in the mood for another round of gut-twisting conversation. "What are you doing?"

The corner of her mouth lifted in a faint smile. He liked the way it rounded her cheek. "I'm not stalking you if that's what you're worried about. You left your head scarves in the medical tent." She offered him a neatly folded bundle of dun cloth and set it down next to him when he didn't reach for it.

Ronon leveled a scowl on her. "I thought I said..."

A slender eyebrow rose in challenge. "I know what you said. However, you're not my commander or my dad. Team leader doesn't mean you get to order me off the planet."

"I can lodge a complaint and have you transferred."

She settled next to him and draped her arms over her knees. "Yeah, good luck with that. We have an influenza epidemic and a civil war in progress. Carson needs every medical personnel he can get. I'd have to do a lot worse than make you mad to convince the powers that be to transfer me off M54-R12."

"I'll transfer then."

This time she laughed outright. "They need you as much they need me. And what are you going to say? 'I want another assignment because I don't like Dr. Keller?' I'd give good money to hear that."

He growled under his breath. His threats had as much affect on her as a fly bite on him. "I could just leave."

Her smile transformed to a knowing smirk. "You could, but you won't. She nudged him with her shoulder. "You, Ronon Dex, are a text book example of the ISFJ personality. The Protector-Defender. There are a lot of people here depending on you, and you know it. You might run from a confrontation with me, but you won't abandon them just to avoid me." A frown fast replaced the smile. "And don't even think about tying me up and shoving me through the gate."

Her formidable logic flummoxed him. Her intimate knowledge of his character made sweat bead his forehead. He desperately wished he could sit beside her with the same cold, emotionless resolve that had seen him through seven years of running. Unfortunately, Jennifer Keller was a lot more terrifying than Wraith and had somehow crawled inside his mind to rifle through his every thought. He had considered binding her and forcibly carrying her through the gate back to Atlantis.

She cut him a sidelong glance. "Any other argument you want to present that I can shoot down?"

"No."

"Mind if I sit here with you?"

"Yeah."

She shrugged. "Too bad." She wiggled her hips, planting her butt even deeper into the sand next to him to emphasize her point.

That startled him, enough that he squeezed reflexively on the magnum's trigger hard enough that if the safety wasn't on, he would have shot himself in the foot. The Jennifer he'd loved on Atlantis would have shied away from his hostile response, apologized profusely and left him to his thoughts. The Jennifer he loved on M54-R12 challenged him at every turn, met his anger head-on and mocked his failed bids to distance himself from her.

They sat in silence for a few moments, she to watch the planet's second sun drop toward the horizon, he to finish cleaning his weapon and studiously ignore her. A small part of him laughed at his efforts and named them futile. She was impossible to ignore. He didn't have to look at her constantly to know what she wore and how well she wore it. Dusty BDUs and military issue boots, a dun colored undershirt darkened at the cleavage with a V-shaped sweat stain, a holstered 9mm strapped to her utility belt. She sported a pony tail, her head free of the scarves he'd grown accustomed to seeing her wear. The planet's harsh sunlight had darkened her skin and painted blonde streaks in her hair. Fly-away strands, glinting red in the fading light, framed her features. Her lips were chapped, and glittering sand dusted her eyebrows. Ronon growled low in his throat. No woman had the right to be so beautiful.

She swiped at her bare arms and dusted her palms together, sending gossamer waterfalls of grit to the ground. "God, I could use a bath. A real bath, you know? One where I can actually submerge in water and soak for half a day." She sighed. "Heck, I'd just be happy for a cloud burst or two."

Ronon grunted and tried not to picture the image his mind so temptingly conjured at her description. "Be careful what you wish for," he said. "This part of the planet gets a storm season. It should move in in about a week or two. You'll get more rain than you ever wanted."

Jennifer eyed him in surprise. "Seriously? Looking at the landscape now, you'd never guess monsoons happen. How long do they last?"

He holstered the magnum and returned her doubtful gaze with one of his own. "How much of M54-R12 did you research before you came here?"

Something flashed in her eyes. Embarrassment? Guilt? He couldn't tell, but his question forced a blush to her face, and her gaze slid to the safety of the horizon.

"The basics. The civil war, the epidemic of course." Her chin came up at his muttered "Mmm," and she frowned at him. "What? I'm a doctor, Ronon, not a meteorologist." Her eyes suddenly rounded, and she burst out laughing.

Caught off guard by her unexpected hilarity, he could only stare for a minute. "What's so funny?"

She gave a last chuckle before clearing her throat. "Nothing. I'm guessing you didn't watch any Star Trek episodes during movie night on Atlantis?"

He shook his head. Movie night. He hadn't thought of that social event on Atlantis in a long time. He'd always attended, fascinated by Earth's culture as viewed through the distorted lens others called Hollywood. He realized he missed those times, that camaraderie with John's inevitable sarcasm, Teyla's puzzlement and even Rodney's annoying dissection of every trope. And he missed watching Jennifer's reactions. She could sit through a splatter film without blinking an eye but hid behind a sofa pillow through nearly all of The Sixth Sense. She was a puzzle of contradictions, one he found both frustrating and fascinating. His mind skittered away from the pleasant thought of taking a life time or six to figure her out.

He picked up a stick and drew a lazy squiggle in the sand at his feet. "The rains last about 2 months. Nonstop. All day, all night."

Jennifer grimaced. "Lovely. We go from parched to soggy and no in between."

He shrugged. "Not a bad thing. Ksaks and Marai depend on the rains for farming. They'll be too busy putting in crops and irrigation ditches or avoiding floods to war with each other."

She offered him another smile. "I never figured you for an optimist."

He didn't either. A decade of fighting, desperation and tragedy had only emphasized his darker personality traits. He surprised himself with his outlook regarding the rains. The good doctor was a corrupting influence. He admired the delicate curve of her jaw, the line of her nose, the way her undershirt followed the elegant slope of one shoulder. "So talk."

She visibly jumped and turned a rounded gaze on him. "What?"

"You've done everything but tie me to a chair so you can talk to me. Here's your chance."

A wisp of hair fluttered across her eyes, bisecting her wary gaze. "Now?"

Ronon settled back, resting his weight on his elbows and forearms, legs stretched out, ankles crossed in casual repose. He hoped the nonchalant pose belied his own nervousness. He'd never been good at this sort of thing. "Any other plans?"

She followed the line of his legs before snapping her gaze back to his. A light blush dusted her cheeks. "Uhm, no." She tucked the strand of fluttering hair behind one ear. "Wow, you're good at making me flounder."

He almost laughed at the irony of her statement. _And you're good at making me bleed._

A frown line marked the space between her brows as she pondered what she would say. Ronon's gut slowly wound itself into ever tightening knots as he waited. The line eased and faded. "Okay, why don't we start with a question. Are you also angry with me because in your mind Rodney won?"

Of the many questions he imagined she'd ask, that wasn't one of them. He thought they had that one settled. "We went over this. A couple of times already."

Arms crossed, she scowled at him. "Some of it, yes, but not all." The light of battled sparked in her eyes. "Be honest, Ronon. How much of that anger is due to Rodney getting one over on you? A kick to the teeth of male one-upmanship?"

He returned her scowl and sat up. "What are you talking about?"

"Rodney told me about your conversation in the gym. The one where he asked if you had any intentions toward me. You told him none and said it without a second's hesitation."

"I changed my mind," he said in a low voice. This whole talking thing was a bad idea.

Jennifer's eyebrows did a fast climb toward her hairline. "Just like that?" She snapped her fingers for emphasis. "What? You had some kind of instantaneous cosmic epiphany?"

_A what? _He tried not gape at her.

Jennifer pointed an accusing finger at him. "You guessed he was interested. He even told you he was interested. Then it became competition. You never expected I'd choose him."

No, he hadn't, and that choice had been a kick to his heart, not his ego. He hadn't imagined the connection that blossomed between them during their quarantine. Though her hesitation sprang from different motivations than his, she'd been as gun-shy as he was about relationships, but it had given him hope, made him wonder about a life with a woman who reminded him of Melena in some ways and yet was so different in others. The idea that his affections had been all one-sided on his part had left him soul-sick.

"Ronon?"

She was relentless in her bid to make him open up to her. He made a mental note never to invite a heart-to-heart with a woman, no matter how well intended, ever again. "It started out that way. Things changed. It wasn't about who won or lost. Not for McKay. Not for me."

Jennifer exhaled a sigh thick with regret. "We all lost. Bad decisions, bad timing, wrong assumptions."

He snorted and didn't bother holding back his sarcasm. "So you came to M54-R12 because you want to fix a mistake."

She absorbed his mockery without flinching. "Who doesn't want to fix their mistakes? I lost a friendship and want to recover it, no matter what it takes."

Confused, sometimes unsure, but definitely not weak, and he was well aware of how difficult he'd been since she'd landed on M54-R12 and shattered his fragile peace. "You've changed."

Jennifer chewed on her lower lip and rubbed her knees with nervous hands. "Coming from you, I don't know if that's good or bad.

Ronon shrugged again. "Just different." A warning voice inside him shouted it wasn't a good idea, but he asked anyway. "So now what?"

Her hands fluttered before she clasped them together at her shins. He'd startled her again. "I'm not sure. I'd like my friend back." A tentative hope glimmered in her eyes. "Maybe we can start small? You can sit with me at dinner. I've saved the best MREs for just this occasion. Gourmet meal in a bag, a little conversation..." She trailed off and dropped her gaze.

"I'm not good at the second."

She grinned. "As long as you promise not to bite my head off or set me on fire with one of your glares if I mention Rodney's name, I can handle conversation for both of us."

Anticipation surged through him on an electric wave, despite his best effort at shorting it out. "I have perimeter patrol until twenty-one hundred."

Jennifer checked her watch. "And I have inventory to take. Want to meet me at the surgery tent when you're done?"

"Okay."

She scrambled to her feet and dusted off her BDUs. In the dying light, her features took on the desert's twilight colors—rose and gold, hints of pale lavender beneath her cheekbones and jaw. He froze in place, seduced by the sight.

"Ronon?"

He blinked. "Yeah?" His question sounded far more abrupt than he intended.

She hesitated, her shoulders lifting briefly. "Never mind. See you after 21:00."

Perimeter patrol was a non-event, as it most often was. The only interesting thing to come Ronon's way was watching a sand viper chase a rodent through the scrub. Nights in the bush got so black, even the starshine couldn't penetrate the darkness, but he'd viewed the predator-prey chase clearly through a set of night vision goggles. Despite his boredom and a growing restlessness to see the end of his shift, he'd kept his focus and scanned the surrounding countryside for any unusual movement. Parker replaced him at exactly 21:00, and Ronon updated the Marine on what he'd observed.

"The doc and I are getting something to eat. We'll probably settle in over there." He pointed to a table-top slab of rock that jutted over a gentle slope. "I'll still keep an eye out."

The other man nodded. "Enjoy dinner, Chief."

He found Jennifer inside the supply compartment of the surgery tent, a clip board in her hand as she counted the numerous boxes spread across one table. She offered him a smile and a wave with her pencil when he entered. "Hey!"

The unfiltered illumination from the EMI lights washed her skin a ghostly white. She still wore her BDU pants but had exchanged the sleeveless undershirt for one with short sleeves for better protection against the rapidly cooling air. Tucked into her pants, the shirt hugged her waist and the curves of her breasts. Ronon's mouth went dry, and he had to unglue his tongue from his upper palate before he could speak. "You ready?"

She tossed the clipboard and pencil on another table. "Yeah. Just let me repack these gauze strips and I'm done."

He helped her pack away the supplies and stack them in an orderly tower in their assigned spot. Jennifer took the last box of gauze from him, her fingers grazing his knuckles. "I wasn't sure you'd come."

His hand tingling from her touch, he took a safe step back. "Why's that?"

"I don't know. I thought you might change your mind." She winked at him. "You've gotten really good at avoiding me."

Were she not so resolute in tracking him down, he'd still be avoiding her, though one might argue his resistance this time had been feeble at best. "I'm here now."

Another sizzle hurtled up his arm when she touched his hand a second time. "And I'm very glad you are."

She accompanied him to the storage tent where the MREs were stocked. Ronon grabbed the nearest pouch without looking at the contents and waited as Jennifer perused the limited selection before settling on one containing chicken fajitas. She grimaced at the package and sighed. "The second we get back to civilization, I'm ordering a pizza." Neither mentioned that while the main base had a lot more amenities than what they had now, it didn't offer pizza.

Ronon guided her to the rock he'd pointed out to Parker earlier. "We can eat here. Close enough to camp for light." He sat first and was inordinately pleased that she took a spot close beside him. This dinner was a far cry from the lunches they'd shared on Atlantis, with its floor to ceiling windows and panoramic views of the quiet ocean, and yet this one, in its bare simplicity, made his heart beat harder. If Jennifer's expression, revealed by the camp's light, were any indication, she felt the same.

They opened their MREs, heated them with the flameless heaters and bartered with each other over the tiny bottles of Tabasco sauce for a package of M&Ms. Ronon emptied both bottles onto his roast beef and vegetables and scooped the mix out of the package with wheat crackers. Jennifer, on the other hand, smashed her chicken fajitas with her fork as if she was trying to kill a nasty bug crawling across the food. She took a careful bite and winced. She noticed him watching her.

"It's better than some of the MREs I've had." Her turned-down mouth said otherwise. She raised her head to admire the night sky dressed in black and bejeweled in twinkling stars and a half moon. "You know, one of the things I found hardest to adjust to when I arrived in the Pegasus galaxy was the night sky. None of the stars were familiar. I kept looking for things like the Big Dipper and Orion's Belt or even the Southern Cross. It was weird not seeing them there."

He knew the feeling. "I thought the same when I visited Earth."

Her soft laughter caressed him. "I bet you did." She took a swallow from her water bottle. "Sometimes I think it's the little things that remind us of how far outside our element we are, how 'alien' alien really is. Then again, the big things hit home too. I knew I wasn't in Kansas anymore when I first encountered Wraith."

"No one's ever ready for the Wraith."

"An unarguable truth."

He recalled an old myth, one told amongst many of the Pegasus civilizations. "There's a story I used to hear as a child on Sateda. Teyla's heard it too. About a woman known as the Wraith Wife."

Jennifer paused in obliterating her meal with her fork. "Considering they're a hive culture that sounds almost counter-cultural."

"A Wraith took a human as his life mate."

She reared back as if the bug she'd been searching for in her food had suddenly jumped out of the package. "Eww! Really? Was she a Wraith worshipper?"

Ronon shrugged, enjoying her dramatic show of disgust. "According to the legend, no. Some say she was Wraithkin, others a human immune to a feeding. She was a Wraith hunter yet saved one from death. He took her as his wife. Kept it a secret." He searched the black heavens, remembering his own revulsion at the idea of a human mated with a Wraith. "His queen would have fed on him if she'd known."

"I didn't think Wraith capable of that kind of emotion. Not to sound flippant, but knowing how Wraith view humans, that's sorta like falling in love with your cheeseburger." She glanced down at her MRE with a longing gaze. "I could easily fall in love with a cheeseburger right now."

He allowed himself a faint smile. "It's just a tale. I don't believe it."

She pointed her fork at him. "Legends have a grain of truth, and it makes for a great story. Don't stop there. What happened?" She waved the fork back and forth. "Wait. If you say they had a bunch of kids, I'm going to be sick."

The idea made him a little queasy too. "My grandmother use to say they meet when the Wraith awaken so he can give her the Gift of Life to keep her from growing old. She still hunts Wraith. He still feeds on humans."

Jennifer harrumphed. "Talk about a relationship in conflict. It makes the mess between you and me easy by comparison." She eyed her dinner once more, her upper lip curled. "You know, for something that has fifty-two grams of fat in it, it should taste a lot better than it does." She held the MRE out to him. "You want the rest of mine?"

He took it with a nod of thanks and forked into the nearly full helping of fajitas.

She watched him while she crunched on a handful of M&Ms. "I don't know how you can eat that with such gusto."

He shrugged. "It's food." From the corner of his eye, he caught the stillness settling over her features. She looked to her bag of candy then back to him. Even with night full on them and all reds turned to shades of gray, he could see the blush staining the ridges of her cheekbones.

"How often did you go without a meal when you were a Runner?"

"I didn't count." As a Runner, making it through each day alive was a triumph, eating on a regular basis, a bonus.

She passed him the second bag of M&Ms she'd bartered her Tabasco for at the beginning of their dinner. "Here. Too much sugar isn't good for the teeth."

They both fell silent for a moment while finishing their dessert. Jennifer broke the quiet by pointing to a spot in the sky. "You have a better knowledge of the Pegasus star systems than I do. What are those three stars? There in the east?"

He followed her line of sight to the three lights. It took him the space of an inhalation to determine those weren't stars. He sprang to his feet.

Jennifer jumped at his sudden movement. "Ronon?"

He tapped his comm, linking everyone into his signal. "Incoming! Get down! Get down!" The words had barely left his lips before the night lit up in a series of flashes and an eruption of sand and pebbles shot skyward before raining down on them.

Before he could reach for her, Jennifer had leapt from her spot next to him and was sprinting toward the camp. Ronon cursed and bolted after her. He laid a hand across her back, urging her silently to keep her head down and her profile low. Explosions thundered next to them and overhead. A yurt burst into flame and Marai villagers swarmed in every direction, carrying children and leading livestock toward any cover offered by the landscape.

Parker's voice echoed in a tinny crackle across the comm. "Three fliers! Similar to Huey Cobras with two machine guns and an auto cannon." The rat-a-tat-tat of return fire on the fliers punctuated his sentences.

They reached the middle of camp where Ronon joined the other Marines in the firefight. The whine and concussion thump of his blaster rifle played supporting chorus to the jitter of M16s as the team worked to fend off their attackers. A carefully placed shot from the blaster sent one of the ships careening off to the west like a spinning top, leaving a spiraling smoke trail behind it. The ground vibrated with the impact as a column of flames and sand billowed upward.

The remaining two ships broke off, arcing out of range to sweep across the landscape. Ronon wasn't fooled. The successful scuttle of the third ship had surprised the Ksak pilots, and they'd retreated long enough to regroup. They'd be back, and they'd strike hard and strike fast. He scanned the blasted camp, noting the bodies sprawled next to dead animals and burning yurts. The surgical tent had been reduced to a heap of scorched canvas melted to the black skeleton of the twisted metal frame. The quarantine tent stood miraculously untouched. He caught sight of Jennifer escorting those ill with the influenza from the shelter, giving instructions to family members and other villagers who'd come to help.

Corporal Murray's shrill whistle cracked across the white noise of crying children, shouting adults and the bleats of panicked livestock. The sound made Ronon's ears buzz out for a moment but was effective in catching everyone's attention. She stood next to the village chief. "Sir," she called out to him. "The chief says there's a rock shelter positioned near a gulley not far from here. It's camouflaged by a lot of scrub and hard to see, even from the air. We can't stay there long, but it'll give us enough time to regroup.

He nodded. "Do it. The sick, the young & the old first. Someone too weak to walk, carry them. Leave the livestock. They'll slow us down."

She saluted and left to coordinate with the rest of the team while Ronon jogged to the quarantine tent. Jennifer met him at the entrance, a crying toddler balanced on her hip. Flames from the ruins of the adjacent surgery tent cast undulating shadows across her face, turning her already grim expression even grimmer. "If they come back..."

"They're coming back." He took the child from her and passed him to a waiting Marai woman who nodded her assent when he told her the latest plans in the local dialect. "There's shelter nearby. We'll get there before the Ksak return if we hurry." His gaze passed over Jennifer, searching for injuries, blood, anything that would likely send both is blood pressure and his anger skyrocketing. Except for her compressed lips and a fine coating of sand that made her skin and hair sparkle in the fire's light, she appeared unfazed by the attack. "You okay, Doc?"

She offered a small smile. "Always the protector. I'm good." She treated him to the same thorough visual inspection. "You?"

"Not a scratch."

The smile turned speculative. "You wouldn't tell me otherwise right now anyway."

"Probably not."

She shook her head and motioned for him to follow her. "I have three more in the tent—two men and a woman. The men are well enough to walk. The woman is still too weak."

He signaled to three Marai who came to wait at the tent's entrance. Between them, they helped the two sick walk out of the tent. Ronon carried the woman and handed her off to a man she recognized as her brother. He re-entered the tent, intending to tell Jennifer to hurry it up when he caught the high, vibrating hum of the approaching fliers. Behind him, the village erupted into another swell of panic as the team worked to get those still alive out of harm's way.

"Jennifer!" His shout bled out to nothing against the explosions that struck the village in a second wave. The ground rocked beneath him. In the sparking flash of shattered EMI lights, he saw Jennifer stumble against one of the makeshift beds near the back of the tent.

The distance from the tent entrance to the back yawned before him, greater than the span between stargates. Time slowed for him, split seconds stretching into minutes, hours. Another world, another battle superimposed itself on the scene. Melena faced him, pale with terror but unwilling to leave, no matter how much he pleaded for her to come to him. A colossal wave of fire swept toward her.

"_It's not your fault. She chose to stay. Don't put that blame on yourself."_

Words of absolution spoken by a shy woman whom he'd once held in contempt and then grew to cherish.

Jennifer regained her feet and turned to face him. Behind her the tent wall lit up in a wash of color-scarlet and yellow, hot tides of orange and searing white. They cast her in silhouette, unwilling worshipper before the rise of a destroying sun.

Pumped up on adrenaline fueled by sheer horror, Ronon bellowed her name and raced to reach her. "Jennifer, run! Run!"

"_It's not your fault. She chose to stay."_

"Jennifer!"

"_She chose to stay."_

"_She chose to stay."_


End file.
